


Bury Me Face Down

by GLITCHEDDEAD



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fix it fic i guess?, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-cult, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GLITCHEDDEAD/pseuds/GLITCHEDDEAD
Summary: Eventual Canon Divergence/fix-it ficThe Deputy arrives 8 days before the reaping.Rook kicks himself for not trusting his gut.He had seen the signs before the Marshal shoved them all into Staci's helicopter, he had seen them and so had everyone else.Why the fuck did he accept this job.
Relationships: Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed, Male Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Male Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed, Staci Pratt/Jacob Seed
Comments: 27
Kudos: 129





	1. CHAPTER ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> So little PSA before you read: The male Deputy is called Elijah but there's excessive use of Rook for your benefit, however, I did build this story around my dep and his background, I hope this doesn't stop you from reading!  
> Definitely not Beta Read...we die like men tonight. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> UPDATED 08.01.2021  
> if you wanted to skip the long chapters of my Rooks background / character building, then skip to Chapter 8/9 !

May.

 _ **8 days before the reaping**_.

“Discharged from the service?” The papers shuffled under the Sheriff's fingers. It didn’t seem like a question he needed to answer. Rook knew that Earl had done a background check on him way before he arrived in Montana. Earl was in his late 50s, his hair receding into greyish brown strands that stuck to the back of his neck. Rook never met Earl before this but his mother and he had a vague connection, that’s how Rook was sat here. Sat opposite the Sheriff as they both wilted in the hot office, the air barely breathable if it wasn’t for the fan struggling in the background.

Rook gave a singular nod. “Yes, Sir.”

Earl gave a hum short and gravely. The papers flipped over in his hands as he scanned through three pages of Elijah Rooks life. Rook couldn’t help but feel obsolete only three pages and he still felt so…empty. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was too many or too little.

“Well,” the Sheriff began his hands shuffling the paper together and resting it on his desk, “You’ve done a lot of impressive work experience, Elijah. The short service time definitely gives you brownie points but…” his hand came up to stroke the hair under his nose, flattening and smoothing any strays. “We’re short-staffed here. I’ve got three deputies left and our dispatcher, Nancy, she practically runs this office,” he covers his sigh with a short laugh, “I need to know you can pull your weight Rook.”

Rook was relived. Earl hadn’t made him explain anything from the service, hadn’t made him explain the two years from then till now where nothing filled the paper…no work, nothing. Rook was incredibly thankful for that and as his shoulders relaxed, he nodded. “I’m dedicated, I know how much Hope needs this department right now and like you said you’re cut short. When I focus, I’m a real hard worker Sheriff, I can prove it.”

Earl nodded a smile appearing as he approved of Rooks answer. “I believe you, son, but for now you’ll be following under Deputy Shaw, sometimes Hudson or Pratt.”

Rook had seen Nancy at the front desk as he came in, she looked like the classic depiction of a soccer mom. Shoulder length blonde hair, white and in her late 40s. He had also seen Hudson stood next to who he assumed was Pratt, Rook could’ve mistaken them for siblings, both having thick long black hair and sun-kissed skin. Hudson was a real looker. Rook didn’t get a good look at Pratt who had his back to him as he was led through to Sheriff's office.

“Your mum was a good woman, Elijah.” Rook Broke out of his haze. His eyes looking up from the carpet flooring, stained and marked. Rook hadn’t thought about his mother since he arrived in Hope County, not in the way that a normal grieving person would. Rook loved his mother dearly, he just wished he spent more time with her. At this moment as his hands fell to his knees, he was convinced Whitehorse knew her more than Rook did.

“Yeah, she was.” Rook agreed. She was a good woman, Rook learnt that in the short years she had left. If it wasn’t for his mum he probably wouldn’t be here, now that he thought about it, he probably wouldn’t even be alive.

“You got a place to stay?” Earl reached for his mug, the steam bundling up around the rim then up toward the ceiling.

“Uh, yeah. She never sold up. The cabin is not far from Rae Rae’s. I remember…a uhm Niesha Howard living across from us.” Rook hadn’t been up to the cabin yet, the fear of being alone and the memories his mum was once there and happy weighed too much on his chest. He’d declared he’d go up after his interview with Whitehorse.

Earl thought, the wrinkles in his forehead creasing as his brows curved together. “Howard Cabin?” He put the coffee down and turned to his computer.

“We had a call out a couple of nights ago, Niesha was…distressed. I sent Shaw up there to check things out, but she refused to answer the door. If you manage to see her just give her a once over, make sure things are okay. She’ll probably be happy to see how much you’ve grown.”

“Yeah sure. I’ll go over this evening.” Rook couldn’t help but grimace at Earls last comment. He had expected that no one would be happy to see him.

His mum had been here since she was born and not many people wanted anything to do with Rook, his dad was a real piece of work. He knew those old enough to still be around Hope would maybe remember him. Rook hoped they’d recognise his mother in him and not his dad.

Earl stood, “Well I’ll let you settle in and say hello to the fellow Deputies. Nancy will give you your badge and uniform.” He held out his hand and Rook shook it firmly. “Welcome to Hope County Sheriff’s Department, Deputy Rook. You start Friday at 5am don’t be late.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Rook smiled his tired eyes seeming to clear for a moment. He wouldn’t fail this opportunity; he’d prove to everyone and make his mum proud…despite not knowing the path ahead he’d do whatever it takes.

* * *

Earl had a hand on Rooks back as he led him out of the office. The open room hummed to the sound of the large fans above and the low static of the radio.

“Everyone, this is Elijah Rook he’s our new Training Deputy, show him the ropes and don’t scare him off…” The Sheriff turned back toward his office leaving Rook to realise how understaffed they really are. The large office block was empty. Only three desks have signs of life. Hope wasn’t big enough to need an entire Militia but four of them? That’s all?

“Hey Newbie” Hudson called from her position still over by Pratt. This time Pratt Had spun around on his chair to face Rook. He was just as handsome as Rook expected. Big wide eyes and handsomely smug. His eyebrow was cut neatly by a small scar.

“Welcome to the force as you can see, we are up to our knees in work,” she gestured to the paper that should’ve been mounding up on the desks, instead only a handful of files sat in a plastic holder.

If they were so understaffed how were they not drowning in work?

“I’m Joey by the way.” Rook took her hand and shook it, her free hand came around to give a hard smack on his back.

“This lazy desk jockey is Staci Pratt.” She let go of his hand and gestured to Pratt who suddenly looked mortally wounded by her statement. Rook glanced over his desk, she wasn’t wrong. The trash can pulled to the side was overflowing and his desk was littered with scrunched up wastepaper and mugs.

“You know I keep my desk in the best condition? It takes skill and cultivation to keep a fine desk such as mine.” Pratt carried the theatricals through.

“What are you cultivating? Mould?” Joey snorted and Rook couldn’t help but laugh too. Clearly these two had a bond similar to that of siblings. Stronger than blood.

“So, you came in last night huh? Where’d run away from? Must’ve been bad enough that you ended up in Hope.”

Pratt earned a hard punch to his shoulder, he recoiled from joeys assault seething a low “ow fuck" under his breath.

Clearly neither of them had pulled Rook up on the database, nor had Whitehorse told them about his parents.

“I was in Oregon for a long while. I flew into Missoula early this morning. Plus, Hope isn’t as bad as I remember” Rook gave a shrug. In all honesty, he doesn’t remember Hope nearly as much as he expected, a few landmarks here and there. Staci audibly scoffed and then laughed almost pitifully, “You say that now, but you’ll realise out of hunting, fishing and drinking there ain’t much here.” He wasn’t wrong and Rook knew that a part of him was ready for the quiet of Hope County.

“Yeah well can’t say I don’t enjoy fishing and drinking from time to time.” Rook replied.

“Goodluck trying to find time for that Rookie.” Joey chimed in and Pratt groaned.

“I haven’t had a day off to drinking in forever.”

“How long has it just been you guys? I mean shifts must be a nightmare?” Rooks brow raised his arms folded across the plain grey shirt.

“It’s manageable but not ideal. We’re lucky we still have Shaw. We had two others before…” Joey Stopped, she breathed.

Rook could see how she thinned her lips into a narrowed smile as her eyes glanced around the very empty office. Only the groaning of ceiling fans there to witness what she desperately wanted to get off the tip of her tongue.

Staci shot her a warning glance, his scarred eyebrow raised. “Well, before the whole damn cult showed up.” her voice quiet as she side glances towards Sheriff's open office door. Staci throws up his hands and groans, “This again?”

“Staci, you've god damn seen it! You know exactly what I mean. You’ve probably seen it on the news by now, right? ” She seethed under her breath. Rook had seen it on his social feed. A column popped up about the rise of doomsday preppers that were in Montana but that wasn't unusual.

What was unusual to read was that about a month later the same journalist updated the article adding a few paragraphs about a religious movement that had moved from Georgia all the way across to Montana and right into this little county. There was barely any information on the movement or the people within it. 

“Sure, I’ve read some stuff. Religious group, right?” Rook Perched himself on an empty desk next to Pratt, he was certain there wasn’t more to this than some sort of hippie parade.

Joey laughed. “You might as well call them a cult for all we’ve seen. Their numbers have grown by the months. They all wear shit white clothes with that awful insignia on it.”

“You’ve seen the silos?” Staci asked looking up and toward Rook.

“Uhhh Yeah. Obnoxiously red and have a large cross plastered over it? I saw a couple driving through this morning.” It was hard to miss them, and Rook was certain those were never there when he was younger.

“Yeah! Well, those silos are owned by the cult too. Specifically, that creepy asshole who now owns nearly half of all properties in Hope County.”

“Creepy asshole?” Rook asked curiously as to Joey's sudden irritation.

“John Seed,” Staci answered.

“Pratt, I’ve got a disturbance call from the Trailer park up at the Henbane, Mr Boshaw is burning property that does not belong to him.” Sheriff Whitehorse stood from the doorway. Pratt started to stand from his desk grabbing a metal canister and his radio. “Again?!” He wiped the sleep away from his face.

“We should all go for a drink. Sunday night, it’ll be quiet, and I’ll make it up to Shaw.” Joey announced as Pratt headed to the door.

“Sounds good!” he waved before disappearing.

Hudson turned to Rook. Rook couldn’t tell if it was fear or a warning that held in her eyes.

“Shit has gotten crazy out here Rookie. Be careful.” Although there was a small thin smile to her lips, Rook did not feel settled by it.

* * *

Rook said his goodbye quickly after she was called into Whitehorse’s office. Shaw was probably on rounds, he’d introduce himself on his shift on Friday, that gave him 2 days to regain the sleep he lost.

He collected the necessities from Nancy who handed him a box, inside two sets of his new uniform, his trainee badge as well as his licenced gun, holster, radio and a wad of paperwork to fill out. “There’s a slip with all our numbers on just in case you need us, Hun!” She smiled all energy and sunshine, but Rook couldn’t help but feel a deep twist in his stomach as her sweet smile turned too high toward the ceiling.

Rook said his goodbye and made way toward his truck sliding the box into the back seat. He climbed in, started the car and made way toward his mums’ cabin-his cabin now...he had to face it eventually.

The evening breeze was a welcome to Rook as he rolled the window down. He’d remembered how beautiful Hope was. Holland Valley was truly stunning as the soft glow of the lowering sun hit the endless fields of crops.

Not a single disturbance rang through the open valley. No industrial booming, no sirens, no _pop pop pop_ of guns and the clattering of casing hitting gravel. Silence. For once, his mind was quiet and Rook couldn’t tell if it was suffocating or relieving.

Rook slammed down on the breaks as his gaze drifted back toward the roads.

“FUCK!” he yelled as his body swung forward and then back, his seatbelt almost choking him off as the truck audibly screeches to a stop. Infront a large white pickup stopped dead in the road. Rook frowned, his head popping out the window to see what stopped him dead in his tracks. Three men stood at the hood of the truck. Rook drove slowly onto the other side to pull up next to them.

All three turned to look at him as if they didn’t hear his truck skid to a stop and yell in frustration. They didn’t say anything, just looked three pairs of darkened eyes with heavy purpled bags accompanying the glare. Rook couldn’t help but notice they all wore the same clothing, tattered and a yellowed white with a large cross embedded on the jumpers. The same cross that appeared on the Silos. “Have you broken down? I can help if you need it?” The new Deputy found his gut instincts telling him to roll the window up and drive away, his instinct was often right when it came to these kinds of situations especially when it involved groups of individuals who looked like they’d snort four lines of coke an hour just to feel something.

One of the three, sporting a horrifically unkept beard so out of control that it just seemed to transition into his long-matted hair stepped forward his hand almost reaching for Rook through the opened window. “Keep moving Sinner.” His throat rumbled, it sounded raw and gravelled like he had been screaming for hours on end. His eyes bloodshot and tired-Rook was certain he was under some form of influence. It’s not Friday yet. It’s not his business.

Rook didn’t need to be told twice. He sped off and transitioned back into the right side of his road, but he couldn’t help but feel bile hang around in the pit of his stomach. These must’ve been the movement Hudson was talking about. From the choice of language to the insignia they wore rather too proudly. It came to no immediate shock that Rook was hearing and seeing a sudden rise in a religious group, this was Montana after all.

As early as the Deputy could remember he had known his father to be a doomsday prepper, not as intense as some of the other property owners in Hope County but enough to know of the fear that came with seeing a large metal bunker under the earth and the implications of having to use it, it used to give him nightmares as a child and the fear of being forced into the ground surrounded by thick walls of metal and dim red lights it still gave him some form of anxiety to this day.

Rook tried to shake the sickly feeling off, replacing it with the task of visiting his old neighbour Niesha.

His truck pulled up outside the cabin. It wasn’t a large building, two bedrooms, kitchen joined the living room and a single bathroom. The wood was still stained an ageing brown and moss had started to take over on the shadowed overhang of the roof, this place would need fixing up. The Deputy at least could keep busy with that, as he pushed the key in and twisted the door handle Rook was welcomed with the urge to cry. Not that he would, not that he wanted to but the thought of a younger Rook with his mother made him feel more guilty about her passing and how little he was grieving.

It didn’t take him long to settle in, he didn’t have much baggage either aside from a suitcase and box of personal belongings, not that he had many of those, to begin with anyway. The house held a stagnant air like time had frozen and everything within waited with bated breath. The dust held heavy due to years of no inhabitants. Rook opened all the windows to let the warm Montana air breeze in.

His mother had to remove all of their personal belongings when she moved to Oregon. The cabin was now just an empty shell waiting to be filled. She had originally planned to sell it to an Adelaide Drubman. Rook had never met her, but he had seen some of her advertisements up on the roads as he drove through the Whitetail Mountains. Rook never thought to ask why his mother never went through with selling up.

The day had gone rather quickly to Rooks surprise. By the time the sun had started to set the deputy spent most of the afternoon cleaning the surfaces of the cabin and organising his clothes rather than just throwing them into the wardrobe and be done with it. He tried his best not to reminisce over his old life, not that it was much of a life any way-from the constant moving to his time in service. This was his life now, Trainee Deputy in a County so far from actual civilisation, and he was somewhat content with that.

He had realised he hadn’t gotten the chance to get any food in. His stomach ached and Rook declared that he couldn’t ignore it tonight. He’d decided a trip into Fall’s End to find a take-out would be the best decision for tonight. As he shut the door a light turned on a few metres away across the drive. The harsh white peeking through the trees that separates the cabins from the road. The light was coming from the Howard cabin. Rook looked down at his watch

**7.24 PM**

There was hesitation in Rooks steps as he made his way across dirt beaten paths and toward the cabin. Just to the side of the cabin, a small silver car looked beaten and battered compared to a large pristine white GMC Sierra, not even a scratch graced the car.

The windows were tinted darker than state law definitely allows. He doesn’t start until 2 days, Rook reminds himself. He doesn’t want to cause Whitehorse any trouble before he’s even filled out the first two boxes of his forms.

The deputy breathed in the truck for just a moment, not that he was ever into cars, he couldn’t be far from interested but he tried to appreciate the beauty and art in all things...including lavish cars.

He took two steps to the side making his way to the passengers' side of the truck. Rook glanced down for a second. The door was stamped with the same insignia that plagued the silos and the clothes of the followers of that religious group.

_“Shit has gotten crazy out here Rookie. Be careful.”_

Rook was careful not to press a hand against the class, the fear of even marking it gave him nausea. The tinted windows made it hard to look through, the unmarked leather seats and clean dash made it seem like it didn’t even belong to anyone, it looked fresh out the factory -except for the small metal aeroplane that hung from the mirror.

“-And as I said, Call me and I shall personally come and guide you to The Fa- I don’t appreciate people looking into my things without proper cause.” The voice behind him now definitely directed at him had a tang about his tone. Words well pronounced as if he used each vowel as knives. Directed and sharp.

Rook backed away to face the front door.

Niesha was just the same as Rook remembered. Dark long hair bundled into a messy bun pulling strands away from her face, small black glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. she looked tired, more than that even she looked _exhausted._ The sensitive skin around her eyes raw red and her face drained of colour but cheeks and nose flushed from crying. She looked at Rook clearly trying to place where she recognised him.

Rook wanted to pull his gaze away from her, noticing just how her body trembled and shook. She must be about the same age as his mother, Rook thinks.

“If you have any cause-" the words jabbed at Rook's spine again. He backed two paces away from the car his hands raised. “Sorry I uhh...” Rook interrupted before the man could continue. Rook didn't acknowledge him at first-too distracted by the familiarity of Neisha.

The man on her doorstep took two sturdy steps toward him. He was smaller than Rook. Not by much, although he was certain this man would declare them equal height. Even in the dark just the inside light bleeding into the porch Rook could see how damn bright his eyes were.

So incredibly bright.

His eyes weren’t the only noticeable feature. The clothes he wore weren’t of 'Hope Quality’ usually residents wore t-shirts and flannels, typical country clad. Whereas the man before him wore a two-piece, it looked expensive, silk blues and dark greys. Rook had a feeling he was the type of man who couldn’t be seen in a place more than once with the same outfit on.

“-I’m Rook, The new Deputy. I just moved. I’m familiar with Mrs Howard here.” Rook said his words to coming out sharp. “Didn’t mean to insult you,” he turned to look back toward the man in front, “curious habits die hard.” He smiled.

“Rook?” Niesha said voice small.

The man in front smiled all teeth the same way a predator does before it bites into its prey. “Well Deputy, I will be on my way. I'm sure we will be well acquainted soon enough.”

Rook felt that awful pain stab in his gut, he couldn’t tell if he was just hungry or disturbed.

* * *

He left without another word. Climbing into the car and reversing down the dirt path.

Who the fuck was that man?

Niesha stood on the doorstep. Her body still trembling and Rook couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the awful energy that man gave off-suffocating and consuming.

It might have just been his cologne.

“Your mother is...Liza?” her voice broke through to Rook.

“Yes! Yeah, I’m her son. Elijah.” Rook smiled. He was told to smile more by his mother she said that he looked peaceful and handsome when he did. Rook could only assume what he looked like when he didn’t.

“Is she here?” Niesha asked as she wrapped her arms around her torso.

“No...she passed away.”

“Come in?”

Rook doesn’t decline.


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/PSA: mentions of death, a brief mention of cancer oh and masturbation.

Niesha was different from what Rook remembered. Then again, he was just a child and more convinced his memory has distorted since then. She did, however, seem visibly distressed. Tense in her joints as she held onto her mug, her shoulders clenched up almost touching her ears. Rook remembers she had a husband but there’s no sign of him. Rook assumes a messy divorce but doesn’t pry her for information.

She never tells him who that man on her driveway was and Rook never asks.

They talk for a few hours about little to nothing. Niesha doesn’t do much talking. She does, however, cook for Rook, setting down a plate of salmon with potatoes and greens. He declines at first, but she has the same insistence as a mother.

Rook can’t help but feel sorry for her.

She asks about Rooks mum. She asks how she passed and what she did when she left Hope County. Rook explains that she left but doesn’t say why he knows most of the county knows...including the Sheriff Whitehorse. He says after moving to and from different states she finally settled in Oregon. But Rook never came with her, instead enlisting into the Army.

He leaves out all that happened after his discharge and the two years between then and now. Only that he moved in with his mum two months before she passed.

Niesha is sympathetic, clearly saddened by the loss but she looks through her glasses at Rook and there’s something in the glint of her eye that Rook can't pin down.

“Do you feel responsible for her death?” she asks.

Rook doesn’t understand what she means given his mother died of cancer.

“She didn’t die alone...but, I can’t help but feel responsible for leaving her. As if, if I stayed there wouldn't have been any sickness.” He admits. He knows it's not logical, the tumour had been there for years.

Niesha doesn’t look entirely satisfied by his answer and sits stiffly again. Her eyes looking down at his emptied plate.

The conversation changes once again and Niesha looks tired by the second so Rook thanks her for her hospitality and goes to leave.

“If you ever need a community...a... place to release what you've been through.... you...never mind. Thank you for stopping by Elijah.”

Rooks brows are raised but since she dismisses it, he nods. “You have my number if you need anything, anything at all...don't hesitate.”

As Rook leaves he can’t help but feel an odd taste on his tongue, like what he just said sounded all too familiar as when he arrived. Those didn’t feel like his words.

* * *

_**7 days before the reaping** _

By the time Rook wakes up the cabin is hot. Even as he’s sprawled out in nothing but boxers, he can feel a veil of sweat on his lower back. He doesn’t dream or have nightmares tonight. Luckily, he’s graced with seven hours of sleep.

He goes for a shower. Thankfully the water finally runs hot and clean. Yesterday's work paid off and Rook is rewarded with pressured water hitting his back and head.

It feels good for once. He feels relaxed knowing he’s here alone deep into the valley and no immediate threat awaits him. He feels relaxed so much so that as he lathers his stomach with soap, he can’t help but give his cock a few soft strokes. It doesn’t take him long to coax himself hard and as he does his thoughts wander. He thinks about the girls he’s fucked during his training and how unsatisfied he felt with sex until his bunkmate offers to blow him. He holds that in his head. The thought of his roommates’ lips wrapped around his cock, warm and wet. Rooks braced against the wall now, head lowered, and eyes shut.

He feels the tightening in his stomach warm and swirling his heart beating against his chest and as he comes against the tiles Rook thinks about that man with those big blue eyes, searching...looking for something inside of Rook.

What stains your soul?

Rook doesn’t dislike that last thought, but he feels himself go flaccid quickly after.

* * *

Today is Thursday and the weather holds the same as yesterday. Hot and cloudless. It doesn’t take the new Deputy long to get down into Falls end. There’s a small groceries store there.

The town is as small as Rook remembers. Barely more than 40 buildings make it up and with only one bar supplying the whole valley alcohol, its no wonder everyone is so close. Word spreads quickly too. Too quickly for Rooks liking as he steps into the store, the bell above his head rattling.

The man behind the counter no older than 60 smiles, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Well, I never.” He announces looking at Rook. .” You must be the new Deputy! Welcome to Hope County!” The man smiles, two of his teeth are missing.

“Oh. thank you, sir.” Rook replies smiling back although he’s never been a social butterfly the situation makes him feel a little awkward. As he mindlessly picks up items and drops them into his basket the shop owner talks about Falls End and how many people have started to “run away, chased out by that damn cult!”

Rook took a six-pack into his grip. “Chased out?” he asks although another part of him is screaming don't ask, you don’t start until tomorrow. It’s not your problem yet... _yet._

Rook listens to him drown on about how many ugly rabid looking men and women have been driving around in off white trucks, the man even comments about how their insignia looks like a hard spin of an iron cross.

Rook has to agree.

By the time he’s paid for 4 bags worth of necessities he is truly well informed about the weight of this religious movement and how many homes have been abandoned or brought up by this John Seed, who Rook assumes is the leader.

The gut feeling in his stomach weighs heavy. Turning and tossing restlessly like a dog cooped up. Rook has always felt that, that sensation that pinpricks the skin at the back of his neck and works its way to his knuckles...that restlessness that puts him on edge constantly. It's what makes him so tired and tense. But Rook can pinpoint the exact moment he felt his stomach toss and turn, his instincts telling him that everything about Montana-about Hope is fucked.

Rook is not surprised about a growing religious movement...or cult. He's heard about cults in the news, watched documentaries about them. He's not worried about it but Hope County sure as hell seems to.

By the time he's packed everything into the car, he takes a second to bathe in Falls End. It's so damn quiet.

* * *

When he gets home he unpacks. It doesn't take him long and shortly ater Rook sets out back to find some tools. The cabin still needs fixing up and there’s a gap in the roof where the wood has shrunk. He needs to fix it before the rainy season.

He finds the tools in the shed. Old and rusted unusable for certain. As he goes to step out of the shed the ground makes an audible clunk.

It's been 15 years since he’s seen the hatch door. He vividly remembers watching at 10 years old, his father and a few of his work colleagues digging into the ground pulling the earth up and placing large thick walls down down down into the ground. A deep metal coffin for the end of the world.

He remembers how his mother stroked the back of his short brown hair fingers lightly tracing the shape of his head. He remembers asking what he was doing and she replied” Making a safer home.” Rook never liked how they called it a second home. Home was supposed to be a safe warm word but even now as Rook looked down at the door, he felt anxiety deep-rooted into his nerves.

It took the loud buzzing from his back pocket to snap him out of his trance. His fingers shaking ever so slightly as he pulled his phone out.

**2.32 PM**

**Unknown:**

**Hey!! Settled in okay? If you need anything you can text I’m free till 9 ;p**

It takes Rook a moment, but he assumed it was either Pratt or Joey. He hasn’t bothered to put their numbers into his phone yet.

Rook replies:

**Hey. thanks. This is Pratt, right? I’ve got a hole in my roof and need some tools. You got a saw and a hammer?**

Rook puts his phone back into his pocket before locking the shed door behind him. He hopes he never has to see inside again. He thinks for a moment he could knock the whole structure down and cover it with a flower bed.

Pratt replies almost immediately.

**2.40pm**

**Unknown:**

**Yeah, its Staci?? You didn’t save my number? I’m wounded. Sure send me your address, I’ll be over but you better have some beers. :p**

Rook smirks, he doubted joey would text with an unnecessary amount of emojis and question marks.

He makes sure to clean up the house despite having cleaned it up already. He's thankful it's small.

It’s almost 4 pm by the time Pratt shows. He’s got a variety of tools in a box most of which still have their tags and plastic wrappings on. Rook wonders if he brought these for him but Pratt sees the look Rook give him and shakes his head.

“My mum gave them to me when I moved into my own place. Being in a trailer though doesn’t require a lot of work...plus I don’t really know how to use...these.” Pratt looks embarrassed and Rook just laughs.

Pratt sits and drinks by Rook as he cuts into a chunk of roofing. The thick wooden board bleached an unnatural orange colour compared to the darkened browns of natural wood. Pratt talks about his life growing up, how his mother raised him and took care of him and how Earl has been like a father figure and how Joey is like an older sister, “she’s overprotective and she fights nasty,” he said laughing, “but she’s kind. Holds your hand if you need it and fights for you if you ask it.”

Rook doesn’t doubt for a second that she fights hard. He knows just by looking at her she would be able to punt Rook into the pavement. Pratt explains she was also Ex-Military but doesn’t go into what happened.

By the time Rook has finished cutting the panel he notices Pratt staring. It catches Pratt off guard, and he takes a large gulp of his beer. Pratt is handsome, definitely. He clearly takes care of himself. His stubble barely a couple centimetres off his face and all trimmed to fit the shape of his face. His hair is well conditioned and sits in nice curls and flicks. Rook thinks he's attractive and he's certain Pratt thinks that of himself too.

“You got a girlfriend?” Rook asks with a toothy grin. He's getting up onto the roof now and he can hear Staci make a noise somewhere between an embarrassed choke and groan.

“No...I messed around a lot in college. Haven’t made a commitment since.” He explains. Rook can hear a waver of his voice like he’s holding himself back. Pratt is 2 years older than Rook, however, Rook for certain looks older than Staci.

“Dating in Hope is practically impossible. But,” he drinks “, I'm kinda...seeing someone.” His voice is quiet and as Rook starts to hammer in the chunk of wood he realises that Staci is right. Hope County is 90% retired folk, farmers and 10% tourists all above the age of 40.

“They hot?” Rook smirks wiping the sweat away from his forehead. He doesn’t want to assume Staci just dates women. It would be awfully ironic for Rook.

Staci doesn’t seem to mind the question. He's grinning and his ears and cheeks have started to bloom red. “Yeah.” He states simply. Rook doesn’t push the conversation any more but laughs lightly at Pratt’s awe.

By the time rook is done fitting the new panel its just gone 7 pm.

Rook orders them both a take out.

“I bumped into a group of those religious guys yesterday.” Rook announces bringing the pizza box into the living room. Staci doesn’t look surprised.

“Peggies" he mumbles around a slice he's grabbed as soon as the cardboard touches the table.

“What?” Rook looks confused. He’s also a little red in the cheeks.

“Project at Edens Gate. P.E.G. or we just call them peggies.” Pratt explains and when Rook doesn’t say anything Pratt turns to look and Rook seems like he’s trying his damned best not to laugh.

“What a name...you sure they're into doomsday prepping and not anal pr-"

Staci chokes on a slice. Rook goes to get him another drink.

“They seem a little...off right? Well I’ve watched documentaries about cults and naturally most members are easily manipulated into it but...they’re all a little off somehow but.” Rook stops to think about Niesha. He thinks about how sore and red her eyes were and how her body was practically drifting like a ghost despite the constant shaking. He thinks about the... _peggies_ by the car and how raw his voice sounded.

“They seem influenced.” He isn’t talking just about motivational speaking nor the holy spirit. It's all Rook can say before he swallows down another bite.

“Yeah. The peggies are odd for sure, they make me uneasy. We've never had any major issues, except most of the time when they get stopped and they don't possess a license to drive a vehicle or being on property they shouldn’t be on.” Pratt explains. “They’re obsessed with him. Infatuated with his words b-but I can’t say for myself I've never gone to any of his sermons.”

Rook looks confused now. The guy on Niesha’s porch was a Priest? He certainly didn’t look it. Clad in expensive clothing and tattoos...Rook remembers seeing tattoos on his hands-across his knuckles.

“John is a Priest?” Rook throws a piece of crust into the box. Neither of them make the move for the last slice.

“No? No...that’s his brother. Well one of them. Joseph is the one they come for. I don’t know anything about him or John. Every time Joey or I try to investigate into a tip-off or rumours Whitehorse nearly has a seizure. He won’t let us near them not since...”

Pratt doesn’t finish his sentence, Rook waits a couple of seconds to see if he follows up but nothing comes of it.

“John buys a lot of the properties for their following...Joey is certain he's forced people out for barely a cent.”

“But that's not just it is it?” Rook knows there’s more to this. It's only been two days and he feels like everyone is avoiding telling Elijah what the fuck is actually going on. Everyone seems to acknowledge this cult and how they've spread like a disease across the county but no one tells him what the disease does. Rook feels by the hour he has made a bad decision coming back to Hope.

“Like I said...rumours.” Pratt is lying and Rook can see that in his eyes, he can see it in the way his scarred brow twitches down like a scowl.

Eventually, Pratt has to leave and he's on the night shift. He tells Rook to keep the tools, that he needs them more. He thanks Rook for the food and drives off.

Rook clears up, he can’t help but drift into his own head as his body goes on auto-drive hands grabbing waste and moving to the trash.

He can’t help but think...what the fuck have I gotten myself into?

* * *

_**6 days before the reaping** _

The alarm whines at Rook at 4.00 AM. He's thankful again he’s not been plagued with any dreams or nightmares, not so much that the dreams bother him but the nightmares...they take a toll, make him feel groggy and sick in the mornings.

He takes a shower and pulls on his new outfit. The deep forest green shirt fits well and he almost feels a little proud when he looks in the mirror and sees E.ROOK on his tag. He wonders for a short second if his mum would feel the same.

It takes him 15 minutes to arrive at the station. Four cop cars are there accompanied by two non-marked vehicles. When he gets in Nancy is waiting all teeth and smiles as she says good morning and that Earl is waiting for him in the office.

Pratt is still here and looks exhausted. He's leaning back against his desk and breathing heavy. His hair is messed and he’s got marks across his face and arms that looks like charcoal. He catches Rook's eye and waves a dismissive hand “Sharky” he says and Rook has no idea what that means.

He knocks twice on the door and Earl gives him the go-ahead.

“Rook. Good to see you. You’re early too.” he's smiling. He can see why Pratt sees him as a father figure. 

“Good to be here, Sir.”

Rook hands him over the wad of paperwork he spent all last night filling out. Around 400 pages of boxes to tick and signatures to scribble. If Rook was being entirely honest he lost interest at around page 20.

Earl takes it and places it on his desk. “Just call me sheriff or Earl, Son. Deputy Shaw should be here any minute. You’ll be on duty with him today. I'll see you at 9 PM if you need anything don't hesitate to buzz.” He taps the radio on his hip once.

Rook excuses himself and waits for Shaw. He forgets to tell Whitehorse about Niesha.

Pratt is ready to go when Elijah comes out and he’s desperately trying to scrub the charcoal marks off of his face.

“So what’s Sharky?” Rook asks rubbing a licked thumb against Pratt's cheek like a mother would do to a child.

Staci recoils slapping the new Deputies hand away. “It is a who, unfortunately. He's a serial arsonist up at the MoonFlower trailer park. Pain in my ass and the number one cause of my weight loss. Makes me chase him across the entire County.” Pratt doesn’t seem entirely irritated by it. If anything there’s a playful smirk that tips his lips up.

“Deputy Rook?” Rook looks away from Pratt and at the door.

“You must be Shaw right?” Rook heads over and goes to shake the hand the larger man has extended. He’s got short dark buzzed hair, light brown eyes and old tattoos on his arms, the ink now a dark blue instead of black.

“Nice to meet you kid. You'll be shadowin’ me today alright? I assume Nance gave you the important stuff?” He gets close to Rook, splays a hand out on his back and starts to walk him toward the door. Rook doesn’t have time to say bye to Staci.

“Yeah, she did.” Rook confirms as he’s lead to one of the cars. Deputy Shaw doesn’t let him drive. Rook doesn’t mind but as they’re cruising across Hope Rook can feel the tik tik tik of the chain that the dog is pulling against. It's thudding in his chest and vibrating in his hands as he tightens his joints.

Shaw drives from Holland Valley to the Henbane and then just skims the bottom of the Whitetail Mountains. Rook notices more how the religious movement has proudly hung their insignia up. Flags highly strung and painted across buildings.

They’re in the car for almost 5 hours before Shaw pulls over at Golden Valley Gas. He's listened to Shaw talk for the majority of it giving him the rundown on everything that goes on except never once does he mention Peggies or P.E.G.

Rook takes this moment to get out and stretch his legs. He asks Shaw if he wants anything from inside and Shaw calls for a Gatorade.

The bell dings above Rook's head and the worker turns to look. She’s young and pretty. Brown hair tucked behind her ears as she looks back down at her magazine. Rook heads to the fridge at the back. He doesn’t realise he's repeating Gatorade out loud like a mantra until he rounds the corner and sees a large man staring at the option of drinks. He eyes Rook for less than a second.

Rook can’t help look for a moment longer.

_Fuck. He’s large._

Rook has to hold his breath. He’s dressed in camo fatigues, the sleeves rolled up revealing heavily scarred arms, it looks like burns where the skin is taught but then there are holes...chunks popped out like the skin had exploded. His hair is incredibly bright a strong fiery red that seems to flop against the shaved sides.

Rook looks away and notices the Gatorade on the other side of him.

“Uh sorry.” He apologises in advance and gestures to the other side of the fridge. “I just need to grab the...” it doesn’t matter what Rook says because the redhead gives him a loud “hmmm" and it rumbles deep in his chest that Rook swears he can feel the vibrations.

He steps out the way barely leaving a foot between him and the fridge. Rook awkwardly scoots past and as he does he looks up. The man has maybe 2 inches of height on him, but it becomes irrelevant when Rook sees those eyes. Oh god. Those big fucking blue eyes. He looks down. His jacket has patches on them and the only one Rook seems to notice is

**J.SEED**

Rook side steps quick. He grabs the bottle and paces toward the counter. It looks odd bringing just the Gatorade back to Shaw so he plucks out the gum and pays for it. The cashier smiles at him and plays with a fine strand of her hair. Rook tries to smile back.

He gets to the car without looking back. Only then does he notice the Peggie truck parked further forward with a large white dog...wolf? In the back. Eyes wide and observant. Maybe Rook is overreacting but he swears the wolf looks starving.

Shaw follows Rook's eyes but doesn’t say anything of it. Instead he thanks Rook for the drink and the new Deputy can only nod. He thinks about one thing the entire drive back to Falls End...was that man Joseph Seed?

* * *

Shaw makes it easy on Rook. Too easy if he's being honest and Rook can’t tell if the man is babying him or belittling him. Rook realises Shaw is cut off from his emotions. He shows little to nothing and only occasionally smiles or laughs. His lips are always pursed into a thin line and his resting face reminds Rook of someone concentrating hard, eyebrows pulled together and eyes narrowed.

There’s not much in common that they can talk about, Rook is certain Shaw wouldn’t talk about his personal life during work anyway. He doesn’t have a ring on his finger either.

Rook has always been a little too observant, assessing and looking at evidence until he can piece together a person without actually speaking to them. Hell, he knows it's a problem when he opens his mouth and it sounds borderline accusation instead of simple assumption. It’s gotten him in trouble plenty times before and he's never seemed to learn his lesson.

Shaw pulls up outside the Spread Eagle, says he needs to check up on a Mary May. He doesn’t go into detail and tells Rook to follow him.

The neon flashes bright against the darkening sky. It’s oddly out of character for the Hope aesthetic but somehow it doesn’t look out of place. Inside holds a couple of patrons. Two older guys playing darts beers in one hand. Another slamming the joystick of the arcade machine, the sound of it vibrating into the background along with the upbeat music from the radio.

Shaw is already talking to who he assumes is Mary May. She’s beautiful really. Blonde hair tied back out of the way and showing fine specks of freckles across her face. She’s got kind eyes, but Rook can see the haunt in them. She's wearing a button-up. Except the buttons are done up right past the collarbone. She looks tired despite her welcoming smile.

“Thank you, Shaw.” She says placing a small whiskey glass in front and filling just a finger full with liquid. Rook doesn’t want an earful from Shaw so he refrains from saying anything about drinking on the job.

“This,” shaw breathes in after gulping the whiskey down, “is Hope’s newest Deputy.” He gestures toward Rook and Rook gives a curt nod. She smiles. Rook can see the pain in the edges. Physically and mentally.

“Elijah Rook right?” Her voice is like honey, Smooth southernness that feels like a blanket. Rook doesn’t doubt for a second that she hides strong fists and sharp teeth.

“Yeah? How'd you know?” He's worried for a moment. He doesn’t let it show. The Deputy can't let it show. In his head he hears:

_Let me have my mothers looks._

“I remember you.” She laughs but it almost sounds like a scoff. “Yeah...your mum came round here a few times. I remember you once broke your arm falling off a table here. My daddy tried to calm you down but you barely cried!” she laughs. Rook can see her physically relax remembering the time but Rook can’t remember it at all.

Mary May must be able to read Rook because she waves a hand out dismissing the memory. “It was a _long_ time ago. Plus you were young and cute, now you’re-"

“Older, stupider and only a pretty face.” Shaw chimes in and laughs bright whites showing under lips.

“Yeah, Something like that.” Rook agrees with a grin.

_Try; older, insomniac, emotionless husk of a man with a standard physical appearance._

Mary May explains that her brothers funeral was short. The day after he was buried they had a larger gathering. Rook doesn’t have the chance to say that he’s sorry for her loss. Rook was right about the fire Mary May had. The conversation goes quiet for a moment and she looks at Shaw through fury glazed eyes. Rook for a moment is even scared of her.

“I will not stand silent any more Shaw. Earl knows this. How long? How long until something happens because I am sick and tired of waiting. I can’t wait anymore.” Her anger wavers into a tired gasp. Her patrons go quiet and the sound of the radio is the only thing keeping the room from complete silence.

“Mary May you know where Earl stands. This isn’t over. You have his number talk with him.” Shaw sounds irritated as if he doesn’t care nor want to hear what she has to say...or maybe it’s a conversation he’s had more than once.

She nods once. “Have you found him?” she asks voice quiet as the arcade machine blurts into life and chatter dulls around them.

“Boyd?”

Mary May nods again.

“I've not heard anything from Pratt, Hudson or Earl. I'll look into it if you really want?” He sounds unsure, doubtful of himself or maybe of the situation. Rook doesn’t understand. He feels like since he’s stepped foot in Hope County he's not understood a single fucking thing and everyone expects him to just jump into the loop.

Mary May shoots him a smile, Forced.

* * *

They leave quickly after and there’s a stagnate taste in the air. Shaw drums his fingers against the steering wheel as they head back to the sheriff's department.

Whitehorse greets them at the reception. He asks how the day was and Rook is inclined to say, “Great. Shaw is a good teacher.” Earl can probably tell he's lying.

They’ve set a desk up for Elijah. It's opposite Pratt. Rook can’t complain but just by looking at the desk, he can feel the low rumble of that dog pacing back and forth in his chest. The desk won't satisfy him or his restlessness.

9 PM comes quicker than expected and it's quite as anything. Only one call in about an escaped bull at 8.50 PM and Shaw shrugs Deputy off “don’t worry Rookie done this thousand of times before. You get home.”

Rook doesn’t mind. He'd rather live another day.

Hudson turns up just before Rook leaves. She asks about his day and before Rook can get the words out she’s smirking “Shaw sucks right? Never lets me drive and has a shitty tendency to pretend you don’t exist.”

She’s nailed it on the head and Rook agrees. “Hey so...the peggies leader, Joseph.” His voice is quiet now and Hudson steps forward. “He’s Ex-Military?”

Hudson takes bow back. She thinks for a moment.

“No. Why?” She looks puzzled and Rooks only response is to shrug. “That’s Jacob. Did you see him?” her tone becomes flat. Assertive and sharp like a warning or a scolding.

“No...well yes. I accidentally bumped into him at Golden Gas. He said nothing to me but Pratt-"

She scoffs. A harsh noise scratching up from her throat and out her nose.

“Pratt.” She inhales through her teeth. “Stay the fuck away from Jacob Seed Rookie. Pratt is smart but right now he’s thinking with his dick and not his head.”

Rook blinks. He’s not sure what she means considering Pratt never actually mentioned a Jacob Seed but as he stares she softens her scowl and reaches out. Rook tries his best not to flinch.

“Jesus...forget I said anything. Listen stay away from them Rook. If they approach you best walk away and tell one of us.” Her hand never reaches Rook's shoulder.

Rook says he understands but he really fucking doesn’t. He has no clue what anyone means. There’s a loud clang in his chest. Restless. Tired. Irritated. He feels uneasy again.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments appreciated! :)  
> Hit me up on Tumblr and Twitter: Glitcheddead


	3. CHAPTER THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Beta Read, I die like a sleep-deprived worm tonight.  
> Enjoy.

_**5 days before the reaping.** _

Saturday is expected to be livelier, Joey tells him. She’s not wrong. Deputy Shaw and himself get called out before Rook was barely two feet into the building, Shaw grabs him and pulls him toward the vehicle. Rook wants to snap at him as his hand wraps around the meat of Rook's arm.

“Disturbance up in the Whitetails. Usually, the boy scouts up there deal with any kind of threat but,” Shaw inhales an unease wavering in his voice but he grins none the less, “they’re the ones who called us out.” He eventually lets go of Rook as he goes to get into the car himself.

Rook isn’t nervous. He doesn’t have any low buzz anxiety that fills him with unease, he feels clear-headed despite his almost sleepless night. He doesn’t remember when sleep finally lulls him into a false sense of security, but he knows he dreamt of trees burning, the ground scorched and hot to touch. He dreams that he gets out of the sheriff’s car and the heat from the ground is almost unbearable. There’s nowhere he can walk to as the forest around him collapses, pines shedding their needles leaving naked burnt trunks to stand against the raging red bleeding into the sky. The trees look like jagged sharp teeth ready to swallow Rook whole.

Shaw doesn’t explain who exactly called until they’re in the Whitetails. They’ve driven past Langford Falls Parking Lot. Rook notice’s there’s more Militia than what’s considered normal. Some have bundled into a small group to talk, even with the window down Rook can’t catch what they’re saying but all their body language reads is tense.

“Eli has some good people here,” Shaw announces and Rook isn’t certain he knows who Eli is. He knows about the Militia, they’ve been here for about as long as Whitehorse. “Normally they don’t involve us unless absolutely necessary, which is fine for Earl.” He repeats before turning up the dirt path leading into the mountains.

“The kid on the phone sounded terrified. He was running patrol on the hiking route-makin’ sure no one’s lost you know? But...he called in and said he found somethin'. I could hear it in his voice.” Shaw doesn’t say what exactly the kid found. Rook knows he'll see soon enough.

Shaw pulls up in an open space. Langford Lake is beautiful. The way the water curves around to form a gigantic deep pool and how the trees encompass the lake and let the light through to reflect against the water. Rook makes a mental note of the place so he can come back fishing.

A kid runs over as he hears them shut the doors. He’s out of breath, sweat has started to bead up around his hairline, it’s slightly damp and glistening at the base. Shaw has his hands out ready to brace onto the kid’s shoulders. “Hey, Hey. Anthony, it's alright breathe.”

Anthony looks no older than 19. He's wearing standard-issue Milita uniform that's a little darker green than Rooks own shirt. There's a patch covering the front of the camo fatigues. It looks like two antlers and some slogan that Rook can't quite make out. Rook can practically smell the fear radiating off of him. “Anthony this is Deputy Rook, Rook this is Anthony.” Shaw introduces his hand waving in-between both.

Anthony catches his breath extending a hand. “Sir, Good to see you both up here...” he trails off taking heavy breaths between each word. Rook shakes his hand briefly.

“So, what’s got you rattled up so bad kid?” Shaw asks and Anthony goes pale. “I can’t explain it.”

Anthony instead shows the way. He starts leading them toward the right side of the lake just in between the edge of the tree line and the water. They cross over the bridge that divides the lake from the creek. He explains he was on his normal route, that Eli trusted him to be a lookout for any hikers in trouble or any hungry animals near tourist territory. He goes on to say how the morning had been clear. He says “Eli thinks that since those peggies moved in tourists have stopped turning up. We’ve hardly seen any campers and hunters up here. The car parks are almost always empty.”

Shaw doesn’t reply and Anthony side glances at Rook.

“Here... I-I came across it when I saw the light hit the ground. The reflection or somethin' caught my eye.” They look down a few metes away a pool of blood sits stagnate against the water, unable to mix together like a cocktail does with different spirits. It’s unusual for blood but as Rook steps closer it looks too thick. He can see the way it goups almost like gelatine.

“This it? Anthony...it’s probably from a deer-"

“No. No... I saw the blood right?” He points to the ground and both Rook and Shaw follow his hand.

“It trails off...so I followed it. I had to make sure it wasn’t a person.” He sounds sick by the last word. Rook can already see where this is going.

They follow the trail up into the trees. The trail inclines as they follow the blood, it seems to thin in splotches and almost seems to spray in some parts. The ground is torn and there are drag marks through the dirt. The tree line isn’t too thick around the start and you can see how the trees deepen and expand the further you get in. There’s a glint of metal a few metres down.

“No one in the area?” Shaw has his hand above his holster.

Anthony shakes his head and swallows. “no one alive.”

They approach the metal and Rook goes to gag. The smell is sour, burning in his nostrils. He can taste it. The air is thick with the smell of burning and blood. Shaw doesn’t gag once.

The picture is clearer now as they round a tree. The area has a little opening but not too open that you could see this from the Lake or road. There’s a large metal cage to the side. Its open and inside is thicker coagulated blood and some clothes. Rook would’ve assumed at first it was for predators, but the torn shredded cloth, presumably from a shirt, makes him realise just how fucked this situation truly is.

Anthony has retreated to the side-lines as Shaw investigates further. He crouches down to look at the inside of the cage. There are scratch marks along the bottom. He doesn’t touch anything despite his hands covered with black leather gloves.

Rook notices the table to the left. There’s shattered glass on the ground. Small vials have rolled out of their plastic container. They’re all empty. Rook reaches for a clipboard and Shaw snatches his wrist in his hand. The grip is not tight but it's enough to make Rook pull away. Rook can’t make out what’s scribbled onto the paper. Only the first paragraph is clear. The bottom half soggy and ink bleached- probably from the spilt vials.

_Batch test 17._

_W.7 response negative. Disposed of after 2 hours._

_W.8 response was inconclusive. Disposed of after 5 hours._

_W.9 response negative. Disposed of after 60 minutes._

_CIV.1 response was positive for 120 minutes. The response turned negative after V.2._

_Disposed-_

The writing cuts off the ink has spread with liquid. The paper looks just about touch dry.

To the right of them, there’s a large pile of debris, charred and scorched. Wood pokes out at odd ends like there’s no real structure to the fire pit. Rook watches Shaw cautiously step toward it. He doesn’t flinch when his hand touches the wood. It's been out cold awhile.

“How many times do you check this area?” He asks and Anthony is bracing himself against a tree.

“Once a week...if we have the time.” He thinks about it. The Whitetails is a big place and Rook believes that they probably have fewer members than the Sheriff’s department.

“Eli wouldn’t have missed a fire this big. It’s a fuckin’ miracle the wind didn’t carry it.”

Shaw is right. A fire pit this big would've been noticeable from down by the ranger station. Hell, you would’ve been able to see it from the road. Somebody must’ve called it into Nancy, especially if it was at night. Rook was certain you'd be able to see a faint glow and plume of smoke from Rae Rae’s.

“It's...n-not uncommon to have fires here especially on popular campgrounds b-but...I was never told about a fire, Eli never mentioned it either. I swear...” The kid has a strain to his voice, he seems worried that Shaw thinks that it’s his fault.

Shaw doesn’t say anything. He turns to Rook his fingers pinched together holding a large chunk of white matted fur. The ends have been frazzled and burnt the skin is flayed and black. Rook thinks about that dog in the back of the peggie truck.

“Rook I'm gunna need you to call Whitehorse up here. I'm gunna stay here with Anthony I need you to take the car back to the station and wait there.”

As much as Rook didn’t want to be belittled and pushed to the side, he also understood this was only his second day and wasn’t even close to receiving his full licence yet. He wanted to prove to Earl he was capable. He wanted to prove to himself.

 _Baby steps Rookie_.

Rook pulls out his radio and begins walking back to the lake. He tests the radio from the edge of the water and gives the PTT a quick tap.

“Sheriff Whitehorse, this is Deputy Rook.”

There’s a moment of silence before the radio crackles with life.

“Deputy, what’s the situation? Over.”

“Deputy Shaw needs you up at Langford Lake. Potentially a sensitive situation...”

Rook breathed for a moment. He waited and when no response came to Rook tapped the PTT “...over?”

He heard a static laugh from Whitehorse. “Wilco that, Rook. ETA 30 minutes. Out.”

Rook had basic procedure word training, nothing more than a simple demonstration and explanation of each call out. Although it had been 2 years since then and procedure words were the last thing on his mind.

Rook clipped his radio onto its holster. It hangs a couple of centimetres lower and brushes against his thigh. He noticed as his eyes drifted down, a silver reflecting and glistening under the gentle ripple of water. It takes him a minute to realise its Eden’s gate cross, large enough to be seen and small enough to be worn.

Rook pulls it out and runs his thumb across the metal. The insignia is dangling on a long metal chain. The Deputy decides to shove it into his pocket and he's not sure why he does.

* * *

Rook is driving back through the valley when his phone rings, it's in his back pocket and within a couple of seconds, it stops. Rook doesn’t attempt to grab it out as he looks at the road-not wanting a repeat of the first day.

Rook before he slept last night spent a while on his phone reading articles and social media posts about Eden’s Gate...except nothing new or particularly interesting comes up. Only repeats of how popular The Father is and how his words have encouraged followers from across America to join him in Hope County.

Rook knows he's brought the island centre to Hope. It’s small but apparently big enough to fit an entire compound on it. Church, housing and sustainable living for those on the island. Rook, however, has seen large trucks drive back and forth through the valley and into the island. Rook isn’t sure what's inside and he has no real reason to stop them. Rook starts to feel Joey’s cult paranoia creeping up on him.

When he pulls into the station, he sees that Whitehorse has already gone and Joey’s car is out front.

When he gets inside Hudson is on him, her hands wrapped around his shoulders wide eyes prying for information. Rook can only hold his hands up in protest. “Can I at least get in first?” he laughs short.

Nancy watches from behind her desk.

Hudson drops her hands and rolls her eyes “Only if you give me all the details." She warns, “I mean it Rook you better remember every damn thing.”

She lets him through to the office. Rook finally gets a coffee and puts himself at his desk. Joey sits opposite in Pratt’s chair.

“So?” She asks aloud before Rook can press his cup to his lips.

“Jesus, Joey, fine! We got a call from a kid named Anthony, works in the Militia...”

Rook explains every detail he remembers and thankfully Joey seems content with the amount he's told. She doesn’t look startled by it though. Rook is sure as shit she’s seen a lot worse in the army, maybe even these last few months in Hope.

“You...don’t seem bothered by this?” Rook asks and Joey rolls her eyes. “Of course, I’m damn well bothered. But this isn’t the first time something like this has happened, Rookie.” Rook assumed as much. The way Shaw handled it made it seem like this happened far too often.

“They’ve sure as hell done worse and we all know it.”

“Staci said they’re just rumours.”

She grunts and slides relaxed into the chair. Her arms go to cross over her chest and Rook finally can make out her large colourful tattoo on her arm.

“Do you believe that?”

Rook doesn’t really know what to believe. Sure, everyone and everything around here is paranoid and every person left is either too scared to mention the cult or too mouthy about it, raving and ranting about how members have kidnapped loved ones and how they’ve taken over land without proper jurisdiction only to have those same people missing days later.

When Rook doesn’t answer Hudson sits up. “A week or so ago the woman who owns The Spread Eagle, Mary May Fairgrave, she went missing for a while but first off it was her brother then it was her daddy and days later he turns up dead. Whitehorse and everyone else seemed convinced his heart gave out. Mary May went to Earl...pleaded with him. When her brother was spotted inside Eden’s Gate she was damn near done begging for help so she took it into her own hands,” Joey paused for just a moment, “She never told me what happened, not really but when we got a call from one of her bartenders saying she’d disappeared I knew she went to find her brother.”

Rook already knew what happened to him and her father. He didn’t need to know details, he could see those fine hauntings from the way Mary May looked at him. If you looked close enough you could see it in Rook too.

“A few days later she’s burying her brother. I know those fuckin’ peggies are behind this and I sure fuckin' know John Seed is too.” There’s so much venom in her voice. The strain that comes out towards the end is equal to that of a wild cat.

“When it started to get out that the cult was grabbing people...converting them forcefully, Deputy Howard left. He said he needed to get his family someplace safe, and then Simons, he left without a single word. We went to his house after 3 days and it had been brought up by John. I can’t blame Howard for taking off...doesn’t it make you think about doing the same?”

Rook did think that.

Rook thought that from day one, hell he even thought about it as he was boarding the plane in Oregon.

_Stay for your mother. Stay to prove your worth._

There’s not much more to say after Joey gives him an earful, she’s not wrong in any aspect, Rook just can’t see why Earl hasn’t done anything. What does he know that they don’t?

“Earl hasn’t done anything? He hasn’t reported it?” Rook’s leg starts to bounce, and his fingers interlock one another over his lap.

“He's tried...god he has.” Hudson sounds defeated now, the tone levelling to some form of sympathy. Her brows have lifted, and the anger seems to melt away. “In the beginning, he extended hands toward them...the Seeds. He even attended one of the Sermons out of good faith. But when things started to get weird and he started getting on to them they smacked that good faith right out of his mouth. Earl couldn’t tag them on anything, he didn’t have a leg to stand on with how much money and influence they started to rack in.”

“Thanks to John?” Rook asks. He thinks he’s starting to understand now.

“Yeah.” She nods. “He brought up the old ranch next to the Rye house. Nick believes the old owners wouldn’t have sold up without a fight. None the less he's got it. Nick came in only a few days ago yelling about John threatening him and his wife. As for the other two? I don’t know much about them, especially Jacob.”

“You’ve not tried looking into records?” Rook finally goes to sip his coffee, it's stone cold.

“That’s the disturbing part Rookie, not a single damn thing is on the database. No marked driver’s license, no previous records...nada," she says it in a way that makes it sound like everything else they’ve seen and discussed isn’t disturbing.

“Shit really is crazy out here, huh?” he mimics her as he leans back into his chair. He tries not to show how nervous he feels, the clink clink clink in his chest rattles him uneasy, the restless pacing creature inside chants about an oncoming tide of war and how ready it is to dive headfirst with teeth bared.

Joey gets a domestic call out and Rook is left alone in the station. Nancy attempts to strike a conversation, it's mostly one-sided. She asks questions about his and Shaw’s call out. She’s curious, she says. Rook is sure she’s not meant to know specifics and tells her “It was nothing nice. You wouldn’t want to know”

She gives him a thin stretched smile. Rook can see it’s forced.

Rook pulls out his phone when Nancy finally retreats to her desk and he sees a missed call from Niesha. He tries to call back but there’s no answer.

The Deputy knows Joey said there was nothing on the database about Eden’s Gate or it’s founders, but he can’t help but bring up the tab on his computer. He types out;

Seed. Joseph.

It comes up blank. He backspaces and tries;

Seed. Jacob.

It comes up blank.

Seed. John.

It comes up blank.

Rook isn’t surprised nor does he think of it as a waste of time, not that he didn’t believe Joey. It was more associated with Pratt, Rook thinks. Pratt doesn’t really believe Eden’s Gate is a cult but knows there’s more to it than he’s letting on and Joey believes with every fibre that Eden’s Gate is a cult and everything said about them is true, except, she has nothing to back it up to prove the accusations and neither does Whitehorse.

Rook sits back into his chair. They can’t do anything because they physically have nothing.

The Hope County’s Sheriff Department was a fucking joke.

* * *

Rook tries to forget about it. He shuts down his computer and spends the rest of the day alone in the office. Nancy brings him food at lunch and Rook can’t help but check between the sandwich, he tells himself he’s just looking at the condiment but that isn’t true. It’s just past 2 PM when Shaw arrives back at the office, Sheriff Whitehorse isn’t with him.

“Sittin’ pretty there Rook.” He quips as Rook pushes himself off the desk.

“Well, you told me to wait.”

Shaw shoots him a large grin. “You eaten? I’m Starvin’ come on let’s get some food.” He’s already waltzing out of the office giving Rook no time to confess he ate half of Nancy’s lunch. They’re in the car by the time Shaw speaks to him again. He’s cruising up toward the Henbane. “What did you make of today? What did you see?”

Rook looks at him, unsure of what he wants to hear but tells him anyway. “There was blood on the-"

“No, Rookie. What did you _see._ ”

He takes a breath, he doesn’t want to hear facts he wants to hear the crime itself, he wants to be able to play it out in his head. He wants to know if he and Rook are on the same page.

“Wolves. Nine as far as I can tell. They were given something, I’m uncertain as to what but it wasn’t giving them results.”

“Them?” Shaw interrupts.

“At minimum two. No one person could drag wolves into a cage, take notes, start a pyre and then fuck off quickly.” Rook glances at Shaw for appraisal but Shaw gives him nothing just a low hum.

“After W.9 they got impatient, needed results. So they dragged a...civilian from the lake. Probably someone out fishing. There was a struggle and...well they dragged the CIV up into the cage gave them whatever they were giving the wolves and it went bad...”

“How did it go bad?”

“It going good doesn’t explain how the vials were smashed. How the glass on the ground was shattered and how I only noticed one set of tracks leaving the site to the north-east of the woodland.”

“Could’ve been Anthony?”

“It could’ve but Anthony said he followed the trail which is directly north-west from the site.”

While he knows this is a test he’s also aware that this is Shaw giving it to him. Rook has been uneasy about him since they first met. It wasn’t his stubborn personality or the way he lacked interest in anyone but himself...it was how he hadn’t mentioned the cult once. Not once did he say that the peggies had something to do with it, not once has he talked about Eden’s Gate and how they’ve spread so deep into Hope everyone is practically choking around them. He doesn’t look at the flags and silos with distaste.

That made Rook uneasy. Was it just Shaw’s ignorance or Shaw’s compliance to another cause?

The Deputy had forgotten all about the necklace until he felt it burn in his pocket.

Shaw pulls up to a large restaurant-bar called 8-Bit Pizza. It looks tacky from the outside, It gives Rook the same feeling as a spin-off Chuck-E-Cheese for adults that like video games and rock music.

Rook waits for Shaw to leave but he never does. He turns to look at Elijah, eyes burning into him. He's searching for something.

“Can I trust you, Rookie?”

Rook feels puzzled by this. Why the fuck wouldn’t he trust Rook? Rook wants to ask him the same thing.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Rook doesn’t move. He glances at Shaw from the side, his head slightly tilted toward him. Give him nothing physically, show him nothing emotionally.

There’s a stagnate pause, Shaw finally grins as he pushes a hand against Rook's shoulder, Rook really fucking hates the contact.

“I'm just fuckin' with you, Rookie! Come on we gotta be quick!” He's already out of the car before Rook can ask what the hell he is on about.

Rook doesn’t get another opportunity.

* * *

When Whitehorse finally arrives back at the station Rook is at his desk again. He and Staci have been talking about their younger days, moments growing up and stories from college. Pratt talks about how he just got his license to pilot a helicopter and Rook can see just how proud of himself he is. Neither him or Joey bring up the situation this morning to Pratt, assuming he already knows, it’s hard to tell with him. The way he holds himself and speaks he has confidence that Rook is certain acts like an amour.

Rook doesn’t deem it necessary to tell them about Shaw or the necklace in his pocket. At this point, it feels like a burden. He knows he shouldn’t have taken it and the longer it stays hidden the more he feels guilty.

“-Whitehorse looked like he was going to have heart failure as I took off. I wasn’t in the air for longer than twenty minutes before he started to sweat.”

“You’re a great pilot, Pratt. It was just real windy that day" The Sheriff chimes behind them from the doorway.

Pratt goes red and shrugs him off. “The wind wouldn’t be able to bring me down.”

Yeah, Deputy Staci Pratt is one cocky guy.

“Rook a moment?” Earl asks his voice quite.

Staci doesn’t say anything as Rook pushes himself away from the desk. Once he's in the office Earl shuts the door behind him.

“Shaw said you did well today.” He announces from behind and Rook isn’t sure if he’s supposed to sit or not.

“It was a delicate situation but I did my best to assess it.” Rook couldn’t help but stand spine straight hands clasped onto each other to stop the mild shakes. He hated the tremors that spurred in his nerves.

“You can relax, I'm not here to lecture. I just wanted your opinion on something.” Earl takes off his hat and holds it in his hands.

“What do you make of this morning, up at the lake?” He asks perching himself on the corner of the desk. He wants a new perspective on things.

He already knows Joey's answer, she'd yell if he needs his eyes tested and that it couldn't be more clear that it's the cult.

Pratt would say he’s uncertain considering the only physical evidence of the cult being there was in Rook's pocket.

Shaw would give a logical explanation, he just sees it how it is.

Rook explains what he saw to Earl just as he did with Shaw. Except this time he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the necklace. Earl takes it into his hands once he places his hat on the desk. He looks it over before looking at Elijah through tinted glasses.

“I don't know why I took it, but I believe this is what Anthony saw in the water.”

“This isn’t solid evidence. Could've come from anywhere but hell...this is the best we got.”

Rook almost feels sorry for the Sheriff. He sounds exhausted, the way his shoulders curl forward almost like a wounded dog, his hands now pressed against the desk supporting his weight.

“Why didn’t you show this to Deputy Shaw?” Earl doesn’t look at Rook, but he has a brow raised like he already knows what Rook is going to say.

“I believe Shaw has other motivations, but you've known him longer than I have, he's your man.”

Earl nods once.

* * *

Rook is excused when Earl eventually sits down. He doesn’t give Rook the pendant back and Rook is relieved, he no longer feels weighted by it but still feels guilty for taking it, for being drawn to it just for a split second.

Staci is still at his desk and Joey is back and making herself a coffee.

“Remember Spread Eagle tomorrow at 10 PM!” Staci turns to yell at Rook. Rooks brows raise, he's surprised they managed to convince Shaw to take the long shift. “How the hell did you convince Shaw?” Rook asks his thumbs slipping into his belt loops.

Joey grins from the side, “Little smile, little persuasion. Plus he already owes me from a sick day.”

“Alright well, I’ll see you both tomorrow then.” Rook gives them both a short smile before leaving. He can’t say he's not excited to go for a drink with his new work colleagues but, that sticky feeling graces the back of his neck.

Rook goes home and dreams of burning skies and blackened trees again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter one today.  
> Kudos and comments appreciated!  
> Hit me up on Twitter or Tumblr: GLITCHEDDEAD


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-read, I die like a 3 week out of date mozzarella ball.

**_4 days before the reaping._ **

Rook is startled awake. The familiar feeling of dread drenching him down till he's soaked in sweat. It makes him nauseated for a moment even though he’s still, it feels like his body is swaying from side to side. All he can do is close his eyes for a moment and wait out the rocking of waves.

It takes him a little longer to get up and showered. The heat from the water soothes his sore muscles and seems to lull him out of the fog he felt like he was swimming through, his mind clouded by the dream he’s had for a second night. He must remind himself that it is just a dream, nothing more, nothing less.

It’s just gone 6 AM when Rook closes the front door and locks it, he gives the handle a harsh tug and sees it struggle against the wooden frame, it’s just another thing he’ll need to fix.

He looks over toward Niesha’s drive. Her car is still there battered in all its damaged glory. The blinds are pulled together. She never returned his call yesterday and Rook just hasn’t had the chance to check up on her. He decides not to go over as he climbs into his truck. Whatever Niesha was going through Rook knew she would need the rest.

When he drives through Hope, he can almost forget about every unsettling thing he’s learnt. He can picture himself sitting out in the fields with a cold can, watching as the sun drags itself from one end to the other, how the colours of the crops and sky change with it. He supposes he can still do that now with the added addition of a bright red cult silo shoved in his face or witnessing one of the peggie trucks lug five men at a time across different parts of the County. Sure, he could pretend but that would be no better than sticking his head in the sand like the rest of them, those that were still here that is.

Rook parks up, he can see that Whitehorse must already be here, Shaw must’ve just left before Rook pulled up. Nancy hasn’t arrived yet, she goes to church on Sundays. She never told Rook which one.

Rook knows he’s not a religious man. He doesn’t believe in a singular almighty being, he doesn’t believe in multiple either. He knows he used to attend weekly service at the Church in Falls End, but it feels less like a memory and more like a feeling.

He doesn’t feel ashamed for not believing in a god where the entire state does. He knows that if he were proven wrong that there was in fact a God weighing up the wrongs and rights of each individual, Rook knows he would not be graced the gates of heaven and he has made peace with that.

The Deputy sits at his desk, Whitehorse places a mug in front of Rook and smiles thinly. “You sleeping alright, Rook?” he asks and Rook wonders why Whitehorse never had any kids? He supposes looking after the Deputies is enough.

“Good enough. Are you?”

“Ah well...about the same.”

Rook hasn’t seen Earl outside of his tired exasperated state, but he can see how this last week has taken a toll on him. The Sheriff doesn’t stick around, he gives Rook a singular pat on the shoulder before returning to his office.

Rook knows he makes it hard to entice a conversation. He's been told countless times he’s a great listener but, in all honesty, he just doesn’t like speaking as much. He doesn’t know if he’s always been like this, but he knows for a long time he's been labelled as the strong silent type. Which is fine for Rook.

Observing and listening. It’s what he's best at, it’s how you understand the enemy and how you win, but that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

Viewing everyone as the enemy...as an opponent with weaknesses and strengths. So, he watches and listens because one day he feels he may have to use what he’s heard to survive.

He tells himself his silence helps him survive, but he's not so sure anymore.

He's been trying to unlearn that mechanism for 2 years and he hopes that tonight can help him break out of it. He is glad however that Pratt and Hudson can talk each other to death. The way they bounce off of each other, how they listen when its needed and tease when it's possible.

Joey comes in just gone 9 AM. One hand is balled tight into a fist her knuckles white. The other is clutched onto her belt, fingertips pressing into the fabric. Her shoulders are tight and pulled back as she strides in.

Rook stares at her, eyes wide and an eyebrow arched.

She catches his gaze and she can barely get her words out.

“Those peggie fuckers almost ran me off the road!” she's not quite yelling but her forehead crunches and swirls with anger.

“I-I had the right of way those fuckers slammed hard into my truck and drove off before I could blink! FUCK.” Her balled fist slams into her desk, the pen pot jostles off spilling cheap biros onto the ground.

Rook believes her. Hell, he knows its damn near traumatic to be in that situation. He can see that she’s shaking slightly.

He stands up but keeps his distance. He doesn’t treat her like a wild animal, but he knows to keep a wide birth, giving her the room to breathe, to exhale her anger.

“Are you hurt?” Rook asks it’s his primary concern.

“No... shit, I don’t...think so? It knocked my truck skidding but didn’t do much damage.”

“I don’t care about the truck Hudson, I care about if you’re hurt or not.”

She smiles at that. Her lips twitching against it, but she gives in and closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath, inhaling through her nose and out through her mouth. Her hands loosen their tight tense lock and swipe a few dark strands out of her face.

“You sound like Danny.” She says softly.

“Yeah? Bet he isn’t as cute as me.” Rook smirks he steps toward her now only a couple feet between them, but he doesn’t reach out.

Her smile turns into a grin and Rook can see the bright whites of her teeth. “I'm sorry I don’t normally get like that, Rookie.”

Rook shakes his head, “you had every damn reason to get like it.” He looks her over to make sure she really isn't hurt. There’s a large bruise forming where her arm has been grazed. She'll live.

“You’re certain it was an Eden's Gate truck?”

“I swear on it.”

The Deputy nods. Joey goes to the bathroom and Rook sits back in his chair, his leg starts to bounce. He wonders if there’s going to be any normal day in Hope.

* * *

Joey eventually comes out of the bathroom, there's a large white band-aid on her arm. She gestures for Rook to follow her. He's taken outside to survey the damage to her truck. If it were one of the cruisers Earl may have had heart failure then and there knowing they don’t have the money nor time to get it fixed.

Thankfully Joey has seemed to calm down. She takes the photos of the rear of the truck bed, it’s heavily dented and the red it was once painted is now scratched a white. No harm has been done to the front tires and the breaks seem to have survived.

“It could’ve been a lot fuckin' worse but I would've preferred if those hairy rats hadn’t done it at all.” She groans and her phone chimes as she takes another photo.

“Do you think it was premeditated?” Rook asks. He’s leaning back against one of the cruisers with his hands shoved deep into his front pockets.

“I don't think they aimed for me to be knocked off no... but I do believe they were intent on causing harm to someone. No one with a fuckin' brain cell goes around driving almost double the speed limit.”

She has a point. They wouldn’t have known what time Joey leaves her house for her shift considering it changed for tonight unless someone told them that and exactly what car she drives as well as the route getting to the station.

You couldn’t miss a large bright red truck headed specifically toward the Sheriff’s station at 8 AM. Like Anthony had said...a lot less holidaymakers have been turning up, with a lot less traffic on the roads Joey would’ve been too easy to spot.

Rook shakes the feeling off. It’s ridiculous to assume someone on the inside would do something like that.

Pratt is out of the question, there’s no way in hell he would cause Hudson any harm.

Shaw is suspicious, he may have odd mannerisms, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to get people to do his dirty work. He'd do it himself.

Whitehorse would have to be either brainwashed or drugged to cause harm to one of his Deputies. There’s no chance he'd do something like that.

Rook doesn’t even think about Nancy.

“Are you going to tell the Sheriff?” Rook pushes his body away from the car and walks alongside Hudson as she heads back into the station.

She shakes her head and pockets her phone.

“No, he's got enough to think about. I don’t need to worry him.”

Hudson is hard-headed when it comes to what she’s going to do and what she isn’t. So, he doesn’t bring it up when they get back inside.

A couple of hours pass and Joeys throwing wastepaper into the trash can. Rook is watching her when his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers as soon as he sees Niesha's name come up. He’s already up and walking toward the back door when he holds his phone to his ear.

“Hello, Mrs Howard?”

There’s no answer but he can hear faint stuttered breathing. She’s been crying or currently so, he can hear it in the hic of her inhale.

“If you need help, I can come immediately.” He's certain it might get him a slap on the hand if he leaves but he has good cause considering Whitehorse asked Rook to check on her.

When she doesn’t reply Rook runs a hand through his hair pushing brown strands away from his eyes. He’s not sure what compels him to want to help Niesha. If it’s how she reminds Rook of his mother or if it’s how she reminds Rook of himself in a time when he was desperate for help, desperate for someone to hear him out. Either way, it drives him to want to help her, to listen to her even if she does just cry into the phone.

“I can’t help you Niesha if you don’t say something.”

“Do you miss her?” her voice is quiet, he can hear the rawness of her throat. Rook squats down and balances on his heels. His free hand rests on the end of his chin, fingers pushing against the strands of short hairs. He notes he needs to shave soon, the thought of being mistaken for one of those peggies makes him grimace.

“Not as much as I thought would.” He’s telling the truth. There’s no point lying to her. He knows she’s asking about his mother, she hasn’t stopped asking him questions about her death and how that makes him feel. He certainly didn’t sign up for a therapist.

“I thought I wouldn’t miss him,” She starts, “I thought...it would be easy, but it wasn’t I miss him-oh god what have I done. I went to him. I went to him and he told me I could absolve my sins. I could be forgiven, b-but I’m scared...what if he can’t? What if no one can?”

She’s not crying anymore but she’s stuttering-tripping around her words as she speaks into the phone. Rook can’t make out what she’s talking about, but he can hear the way she grips around the phone, holding it tight like she’s trying to keep it from running or breathing.

“Shhh, Niesha listen to me. Take a breath. I need you to take a breath. Are you safe?”

Rook can hear the older woman take two deep breaths. “Yes...” She sounds unsure. Rook stands and begins to pace, the soles of his shoes dragging against the pavement as he strides across to the fence and back to the wall.

“Do you need me to come get you?”

“No.” Her answer is almost immediate.

“Okay. I won’t be back till later tonight but if I see a light on, I’ll come knocking.”

“Okay.” She inhales again and Rook can her breath wavering on the exhale, at least she’s no longer crying. “Thank you, Elijah.” She says and there’s a genuine sincerity behind it that not even Rook would be able to fake. There’s something about it, so crystal clear that Rook can feel those words brand into his skin, he’s just not sure why.

Rook tells her to hydrate, take a shower if she can and keep busy. Eventually, she lets him go, convincing him that she’ll be okay till tonight. Rook isn’t entirely sure what he’s heard but he can vaguely guess it’s got something to do with her husband. He guessed a rough divorce when he first spoke to her but now...now he's not so sure.

He goes back inside pocketing his phone. Joey asks if he’s alright and Rook just nods.

* * *

It's almost 10 PM when Shaw arrives just before Whitehorse. Nothing eventful happens during the day except that Rook almost smashes one of the glass windows as he tosses a baseball to Joey. Nancy arrived not long after lunch. She practically goes silo red when she hears the crack of glass then the prolonged silence from both Deputies. Whitehorse left just after Nancy arrived, knowing he and Shaw were going to cover the long shift he said he needed to get some more rest. Rook doesn’t blame him. Joey says she can stay if need be, but he insists they go and have a good night.

Once Shaw arrives Joey and Rook wait outside for Pratt. He's twenty minutes late and Hudson has a rock in her hand. She’s been turning it over and passing it between each palm. Rook is certain she’s going to try and pelt it at Pratt for being inexcusably late.

“If your excuse is you were busy conditioning your hair, Pratt I will throw this rock at you.” She yells as he gets out of the car. He looks different outside of the uniform. Rook didn’t imagine him looking like a nervous well-groomed punk boy but there he is in skinny black/grey washed jeans, a dark grey shirt and a plaid shirt open over top. He’s still sporting that leather platted bracelet.

“Jeeze, you think you’re friends with someone till they threaten to throw rocks at you.” He holds his hands up in defeat. Rook can’t help but laugh.

Joey throws the rock hard it lands across the road with a thud. Sliding off the car bonnet she shrugs, “I’m beginning to think you like your hair products more than me.”

They bark sarcastic remarks at each other for the short drive into Falls End. Joey decided it would be better if they all left their cars at the station and that she would be the one to drive them all to the Spread Eagle. Rook guesses this gives her the power to use it against either him or Pratt when she needs something.

The drive doesn’t take long and once Hudson parks up around the back of the bar she leads them inside. Rook notices how sparse it is. Which is good for Rook it means he can assess his surroundings more, take note of exits and how many faces are in the room, although the lack of patrons is evidently affecting Mary May.

She’s standing behind the bar pulling hot glasses out of the quick washer wiping each one down with a cloth. She doesn’t look happy...Rook can’t quite read it. Her eyes are busy looking in between the clean glasses and the shelf below where they’re stored. It takes Pratt walking up to the counter and giving a slight wave of his hand for her to notice the three Deputies in front.

“Oh. Evening officers.” It's in her voice...that distant drift that’s familiar to Rook. She’s deep in her thoughts, thinking and hearing but only in her head. Unaware of the surrounds around her.

“We're actually here to drink tonight,” Joey says as she rests herself against the bar before sliding up onto the wooden stool.

Mary May looks surprised, the way her eyes light up. A few rouge strands of hair fall from her bun as her posture changes. “Well, that’s good to hear!” She puts the glass in her hand away and throws the towel over her shoulder. She’s wearing a Hope County Cougars shirt tonight, but the neck is high, hugging close to her throat.

“Not nearly enough people coming back after...ah it doesn’t matter so what can I get you guys?”

Rook isn’t sure if she means patrons aren’t turning up because of what happened with her family or Eden’s Gate in general. There are a couple of guys inhabiting the building tonight. Three men sat around a table beer in hands sharing laughs and smiles. Two guys are by the darts board and a young woman is stood next to the arcade machine with a younger guy. The room has a generally good feeling. It helps ease Rook into the atmosphere, not crowded but just enough bodies to help him blend in.

He notices three exits.

Pratt takes first rounds with a groan since Joey said he needed to make it up to them for being late. He gets two beers for both himself and Rook and one for Joey considering she's driving. Pratt then complains about how much lighter his wallet now feels.

They decide to sit up front with Mary May, she seems more awake now that she has the company and Rook can see how she appreciates it. Listening and laughing with them. Rook doesn’t know how long they’ve all known each other but he assumes a while.

They catch up on personal life, sharing gossip and personal stories. Rook can tell they're trying their damned best not to mention the cult. Pratt breezes through it, he talks about his pilot’s license and the company bird they gave him, how he's named her Josey. Hudson mocks him for his naming choice.

Mary May asks Rook where he moved too after him and his mum left Hope, he explains just like he’s done to everyone else that he moved around for a while before going to Oregon. No one presses and he's thankful no one has gathered the liquid courage to ask more.

The conversation goes quiet. Rook even slightly buzzed can see how desperately Hudson and Mary May want to talk about Eden’s Gate.

“I was hit by a peggie truck today" Hudson announces and Pratt stares at her wide-eyed.

“Joey, what the fuck? Why didn’t you say anything are you alright?” He reaches out for her and she snatches his arm in a fist before giving it a playful wiggle.

“Yeah, you idiot I’m fine. Well, I was pissed, _I am pissed_ but, Rookie here helped me out.” Joey lets go of Pratts arm and tips the neck of her bottle toward the new Deputy.

“Are you sure they were peggies?” Mary May asks her voice quiet but concerned, nonetheless.

Hudson nods, “Yeah couldn’t have mistaken it. Classic white with the black cross. I couldn’t see how many were in there but...for sure it was them.”

Mary May shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. “I can’t keep sitting here-"

Hudson reaches out and lightly touches Mary May's hand stilling her from wiping the bar down. “-If I continue to wait, they're gunna come around again. I know it. After what I did, they're gunna co-"

“No one is going to get you, Mary May,” Pratt interjects.

She smiles but it’s almost out of pity. The way her eyes already say: you’re too late. Rook doesn’t know what’s happened to her, but he knows she’s more than just a survivor.

Poor ignorant Pratt, so unaware, so optimistic.

“I wouldn’t let them.” Joey backs him up, this time she curls her fingers under Mary May’s hand holding it tightly.

“Yeah, well neither would I" she forces herself to laugh. Rook can’t help but admire her for her strength and courage.

* * *

A couple of hours seem to just fly by. Once they get it out of their system, they all go back to talking about their younger days despite all being young as they are. The couple by the arcade have left, they thank Mary May before leaving. It seems to quieten down now that its past 1 AM. The three-man group has dropped down to two and the two men playing darts declared that game over a while ago and decided to sit down by the windows.

Rook figures he's had just a little too much to drink as he feels his thoughts start to sway.

“No, no...well...yes actually.” Rook laughs into the hole of the beer bottle. “I’m not embarrassed about it or anything. I mean anything can happen in the army right? Including...exactly what you're thinking.” They’re all laughing now. Pratt had asked Rook if it was true that those training in the military got hot and heavy with any warm body they could. He initially dejects and says Hudson would have better knowledge but Pratt doesn’t let Rook up till he speaks, Rook doesn’t deny it.

“Can’t say I’m surprised” Joey deadpans at Rook before taking another small sip.

Pratt and Mary May both stay silent holding back the need to laugh.

“What? No way. You’re lying.” Rook shakes his head, unbelieving, sure she’s been in the actual military longer than Rook has or will ever be, definitely has more experience in that field but there’s no way she could just...know?

Rook has never been open nor closed about his sexuality or his experiences. No one has ever asked, and he feels no need to tell.

“You have a slit eyebrow.” She replies, still deadpanned, as if that alone is fact enough that Pratt or Rook have slept with all kinds of people, men included. It takes a moment, but it finally clicks in with both him and Pratt. They both simultaneously groan.

“That’s ridiculous! I didn’t do it on purpose you know that!” Pratt throws his hands up dramatically. “This scar proves that not even a steep stairwell could take me out.”

Joey looks at him smugly, eyebrow raised as Pratt tries to recover.

“Am I wrong?”

“Urgh...no” He doesn’t sound too defeated.

“Plus, Rooks’ is _way_ more gnarly than yours. How'd you get it?”

Rook goes stiff. He hates that he feels almost drunk, probably three large sips away from being loose in the mouth.

“I uhm...got into a fight. I was lucky to only walk away with that" he points to the large scar that cuts into his forehead and down toward his eyebrow. It’s only just two inches long and it’s less bright as it used to be, the scar now a dark pink instead of raging scabbing red like it used to look like. The end of the scar cuts into the corner of his eyebrow.

“You better have won that fight.” Hudson chimes after a short silence.

Rook nods. “Yeah. I did.”

Rook slides out front for a cigarette not long after the conversation. He’s not in the habit of smoking, not anymore, not since...

He bumps one out of the box and holds it between his lips. Falls End is too quiet. Rook notices just how deserted it sounds past midnight. His head rests back against the wall as he lights up and takes a long drag.

He’s almost halfway through when the door opens. It's Staci but he doesn’t see Rook standing just off to the side. He’s looking down at his phone and before Rook can say anything he’s pacing across the road and to the other side. The store opposite is closed but there’s a large truck similar to Joeys parked outside.

Rook can’t fully recognize who Pratt is walking up to but there’s a large figure sitting in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel the other hanging out of the window.

The driver sparks up, the lighter giving a faint glow of the inside of the truck. Rook swears he sees bright red hair and harsh pockmarks.

_He's drunk, right?_

Rook doesn’t know what he’s really seeing but Staci strolls up to the window. He stands there for a moment before going around to the passenger’s side and sliding in. The truck pulls away and drives off. Rook is left feeling seven different types of confused.

Joey opens the door when Rook eventually snaps out of his daze. His cigarette has burnt out to his hand and he drops it before it touches his skin.

“You alright Rookie?” She asks, Rook knows she’s sober enough to see his confusion.

“Yeah. Fine sorry. Where did Pratt go?”

“Oh, he said he was getting a cab back. Easier that way considering we live in the same direction.”

“Of course, yeah...makes sense.” But it doesn’t...it doesn’t make any fucking sense at all.

Joey drives Rook back without a hitch. They don’t talk or exchange any looks. Rook feels too distorted to even say anything. He doesn’t feel drunk enough that what he just saw might have been a hallucination, but he doesn’t feel sober enough to admit that that was Jacob Fucking Seed picking Staci up.

When Joey pulls up, Rook as best as he can says thank you and that he owes her one. She nods and waves him off before pulling around and back down the dirt road.

Rook feels sick. He stumbles into his cabin forgetting to check on Niesha, despite one of the lights on and blinds pulled apart.

* * *

_**3 days before the reaping** _

8 AM

Rook doesn’t dream thankfully. He wakes up disoriented thanks to the alcohol just about leaving his system. His routine doesn’t change despite the distant pounding in his skull. Get up, shower, eat and get to work. Joey, as promised, picks him up just before 9 AM. She has a coffee waiting for him in the cupholder. He can't thank her enough. 

Pratt isn’t in the station until noon. Rook can’t help but feel anxious about it, He doesn’t know Pratt well enough to feel betrayed and he doesn’t exactly know what Jacob Seed has possibly done to warrant a betrayal…aside from the fact he is supposedly head of security for his brothers, for Eden’s gate.

Rook tries not to think on it, tries to forget the hazy memory of watching Pratt grin as he climbs into the passenger’s seat of Jacob’s car.

_Forget it._

Whitehorse and Shaw don’t stick around, both men look tired despite it being a quiet night. Shaw was pulled out once for a house call.

Rook eventually does forget about what he saw last night. By the time Staci has come in Rook can’t help but swallow down the uneasy feeling, he reminds himself it’s not his damned business, so he doesn’t bring it up. But when Staci comes in, hand wrapped tight around a thermostat, he grazes eye contact with Rook, he’s smiling and announcing his Good Morning’s, Rook can see a glint of guilt. He’s back in his uniform and Rook can almost separate the Staci now from the Staci last night.

Rook isn't entirely certain how Pratt got to the station, but it doesn't take a genius to figure it out.

They receive an unhealthy amount of calls from residents of Hope, some range from escape animals, to dangerous wildlife spotted, to peggies clambering over the land they definitely shouldn’t be on and then there are calls about an increase in Eden’s Gate members knocking on doors, demanding the ‘calling of Joseph’ and how there’s ‘Little time to prepare for the collapse’. It is typical doomsday speak, Rook’s heard it before, and it probably won’t be the last time he’s heard it.

It’s around 1 PM when they get a distress call from a Jessica Adams. Nancy radio’s Pratt telling him about a possible disturbance turned threat at the Adams Residence. Pratt calls Rook along with the sway of his hand gesturing toward the door. “Let’s go Rookie” He sounds tired, voice scratchy and full of sleep.

When Pratt starts driving there’s an awkward silence. The way the air holds them both in an odd position that neither one of them want to start speaking just in case it grips around their throats.

“Why didn’t you bring Joey instead?” Rook asks it’s a genuine question, not something to fill in the stale air between them.

“Oh,” Pratt speaks, Surprised that Rook asked him that and not something more obvious, something they clearly both know. “You’ve not known Joey long, but you know her well enough to see she has a temper around the peggies. She’ll book every last one given the chance,” he laughs taking a hand off of the steering wheel for a moment to brush back his hair, “She has tried. Every time she’s pulled one of them in either Whitehorse lets them go cus’ we have nothing to book them for or John comes and rescues them.”

“Does he pay the Sheriff?” Rooks brows furl together, he’s not accusing Earl of taking dirt money, but he assumes John has enough of it to pull any kind of stunt he wants.

“God no! No. I don’t think so?”

“No offence, Pratt but you don’t sound confident.”

“None taken.” He lets out a sigh, Rook can see it across his face, the uncertainty that plagues him. He’s known Earl for most of his life and Rook knows it pains him to think the Sheriff would be paid into silence. But they both know he’s been doing a damn good job without the money anyway.

They don’t talk until they pull up to the Adams Residence.

The house is large, it’s painted bright blue and stands openly around a big yard. Pratt parks just to the side of a truck. Rook knows that truck. Before Pratt opens the door Rook gently holds his arm and then points over to the spotless white Sierra.

Pratt looks at the truck then at Rook giving him a singular nod he already knows who owns that portentous car, “I know.”

He pulls himself out the car and waits for the Deputy. 

John Seed is stood on the porch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Well, Well, Staci Bratt what are you getting up too?  
> Also don't yell at me if you have a slit in your eyebrow you god damn know what it means, yeah I'm looking at you.  
> Kudos and comments are well appreciated! Thank you :)  
> Hit me up on Tumblr or Twitter; @ Glitcheddead


	5. CHAPTER FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-read.  
> TLDR : while writing this chapter stupid Irish man thinks you need a license to open carry in Montana, writes up a bit and then googles last minute finding out in fact: you do not need any legal license to carry a gun, and has to re-write an entire section! Epic :)

Rook doesn’t need to speak to John Seed to know how much of a portentous bastard he is. He's heard enough to know that he has deep pockets and the most outright lavish lifestyle. Parading around with custom painted planes and cars. And while he may possess a luxury lifestyle Rook can tell just by looking at him that he has never truly been happy.

Rook knows he's an experienced lawyer. One of the best, apparently. It doesn’t shock Rook that a man in such power decides to quit his job and provide a less physical kind of security for his brothers, the Deputy just can’t figure out what John could possibly get in return.

Everyone has a price. Including the youngest brother of a cult leader.

Staci has pushed his way to the front door. He’s talking to Jessica’s husband through a one-foot gap. The chain is pulled tight on the other side. He can hear two kids talking behind their father who’s blocking the doorway. Rook tries not to look surprised when he realises how truly terrified people are of these religious nuts, especially when John Seed comes knocking.

Rook decides to wait down at the bottom of the stairs. Staci may be known for being a bit of a brat but he's caring, he's not hard-headed like the others. He would rather solve an issue quickly and efficiently without violence. Staci isn’t an idiot, despite popular belief. Rook knows Staci is an observer like him, he endures and waits for the right opportunities. Right now, the people of Hope need that kind familiar face.

John has his hands folded across his puffed-out chest. His spine curved up to give the illusion of extra height. He’s grinning up at Rook. The way his cheeks turn up to the sky and his eyebrow with it. It reminds Rook of the Cheshire Cat. He’s testing Rooks ability to remain deadpan. It’s not hard for the Deputy, not giving a reaction to those that clearly crave it so badly.

Staci politely requested John send his armed lackeys to wait in the truck. He doesn’t put up any fight instead obliges with confidence, he merely waves his hand and the two dishevelled men go without complaint.

Rook hasn’t been able to hear the full conversation between Mr Adams and Pratt, but he can hear the man’s voice grow with agitation. Rook catches the way John breathes in his anger. He’s getting a fucking kick out of this.

“You mind not looking so smug?” Rook doesn’t look nearly as phased as what John probably wants him to. He does, however, look caught off that Rook decided to speak to him.

“And here I was thinking you were the strong silent type.” He's all teeth for a moment. It disappears in a snap when he takes a step forward, his arms remain crossed. Rook can start to see more tattoos covering from his elbows to his knuckles. The action almost makes Rook uncomfortable, but he’s not swayed. “It's good to see you on your feet so quickly. Only four days into being a Deputy and you’re already behaving like the Sheriff. How proud must he be.”

“I’m a fast learner" Rook smiles looking across at John. He hates the way he looks, dressed up in that fancy two-piece how his torso welcomes the blue silk that sits nicely across his shoulders and arms. How his stupid jeans squeeze against his thighs and how...

“I’m not leaving!” Mr Adams yells. The lock has popped away from the door and its swung open a few feet. Staci steps back a couple of paces as he nods his head. “Sir, I understand that. I’m on your side here.” He tries to reduce the tension between Mr Adams and John, who is still looking at Rook.

God, he hates the way he looks at him, he’s not just looking for the sake of it he’s _searching_ for something and Rook has no fucking idea what. He can only quip an eyebrow up as his head tilts toward his left shoulder.

“He has no right!” Mr Adams yells again, his face is red and there’s a large vein popping out across this forehead. “He can’t do it. I own this land. This is my home!” Staci is stopping Mr Adams from furthering his assault toward John. He may not be a big guy, but his body blocks the way down. Pratts's hands are out palms flat against the man’s shoulders.

“Oh, see that’s where you’re wrong Mr Adams. Painfully so, you sold me your property three days ago. Signed and sealed. You have extended your time on _my_ land and yet I’ve been gracious enough to let you stay.” Johns looking away from Rook now. His position turning toward Mr Adams as his arms unfold. His hands start to gesture, swaying from left to right as he speaks. Rook is surprised he was never a drama kid in college.

Staci looks between John and Mr Adams. “Is that true?” Pratt asks taking his hands away and Mr Adams body goes slack, the anger and tension swirling away like someone pulled out the plug from an overflowing sink. His shoulders curl and Rook can’t help but see him like a scolded dog.

“I was drunk. I didn’t know who he was Pratt...”

Elijah can’t quite see the sympathy on Pratts face from where he stands but he can feel it. Pratt reaches out again instead he squeezes his shoulder.

“Nonetheless Mr Adams, you signed it.”

“Alright, Seed.” Staci seethes between gritted teeth. “Pack your things. It's safer for your family if you leave anyway.” Staci says, his tone is softer. He’s just out of earshot from Rook and John. Staci is right, everything Rook has seen in such a short amount of time confirms it. This family is better off leaving Hope...better off leaving Montana altogether.

“Since I am so gracious and acknowledge how your ignorance leads to these circumstances, I'll give you two more days to leave. Then Mr Adams if you are still here, I will bury you in the ruins of this home.” John breathes in with a large grin. Staci has turned around to face him with a scowl, it's intense, the way his eyes narrow and his dark brows furl together. Rook is certain he's never seen him that angry.

“Figuratively, that is,” John adds as he turns to look at Rook again. He looks like a child that’s just gotten away with sticking his hand in the cookie jar. Rook _hates_ it.

Mr Adams looks between both Staci and Rook for a moment, a desperate plea for help. “Can’t you do something?” his voice quiet and torn. Rook is certain that if Staci had the power, he’d simply get Joey to shoot John. Maybe keep him alive for leverage and that would chase the cult out of Hope County. But Staci didn’t have that power and Staci wasn’t in the business for kidnapping rich lawyers and use them as a bargaining chip.

Staci shook his head, “The best I can do is give you a little more time, I’ll call John in for some physical evidence but…if he has all the paperwork then legally…There’s nothing…-I’m sorry.”

Rook wanted to sympathise for poor Mr Adams and his family…he really did. It was hard to relate to someone who presumably has had an apple pie life-perfect family with good kids and a loving wife. Mr Adams wants to keep the family home, raise his kids well and help them adapt to life in the County, not run and hide. Forever fearful of a kidnapping converting cult that’s plaguing all through the valley, henbane and mountains. Rook _tried_ to sympathise But, it was hard when Rook could see the grease stains across his off grey shirt. How his fingernails glinted a nasty yellow in the sun. How his eyes, although a bright hazel looked dull and colourless over the sunken skin of heavy purpled bags. It was hard because as Mr Adams swung open his door Rook caught a glimpse of the overflowing trash. Smothered in glass bottles.

It was hard to sympathise with a man that reminded him so much of his own father.

He can’t help but feel guilty for the loss of their home...even though it is John who furthered the crack in the Adams household.

Mr Adams gives one final nod a small “okay” following. The door shuts behind him, loud and aggressive, no matter how he would let his frustrations out Mr Adams would have to leave as soon as possible if he wants his family to leave unscathed.

Whether he would leave or not was completely up to him. Rook certainly doesn’t want to be around to scrape the pieces off if he decides to cosy up in his fort made of glass and cigarette ends.

The door closes and John slaps his hands together it makes Rook snap his head back toward the youngest Seed. “Well if you Deputies don’t mind my brother is starting his sermon soon-" he takes a step closer to Rook his hand reaching out before Elijah takes an equal number of steps back, just out of reach. John’s hand hovers over where the new Deputies collar would've been before snatching it back. “-it would be a shame if you didn’t come and hear the words of The Father.”

Staci steps behind John and clears his throat. It seems to knock some sense into John, reminding him of his position in this conversation.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m an atheist, thank god.” Rook grins as he finally moves away, stepping around John he comes next to Staci before they both start pacing back toward the cruiser. Clearly neither of the young Deputies want to be in grabbing distance of the youngest Seed.

John's grin has been pulled away. Instead, he's scowling, glare intense and as Rook opens the door to the car. John calls out, “You should reconsider, Deputy.”

Rook isn’t sure which Deputy he's talking too.

* * *

“He makes me uncomfortable,” Staci announces after a short silence. They both wait in the cruiser till John climbs into his truck and leaves, true to his word he heads down the path and turns right heading toward his brother’s compound. Staci is cruising back toward the station at a slow pace. It’s been unnaturally quiet for half an hour and Rook knows it’s because Staci wants to talk about what Rook has seen, he just wants Rook to bring it up first.

“Mr ‘Gucci’ Seed?” Rook asks with a smirk. He doesn’t want to sound like he’s mocking Staci, he’s just surprised. Rook can understand how John may be unsettling. But Rook isn’t afraid or intimidated by him because he knows that’s what John wants. He wants those around him to feel something, to feel small or scared. Rook sees right through it, knowing the best way to counter a person like John Seed is to give them absolutely nothing at all.

Staci snorts nodding his head, “Yeah who else? He put on such a good act at first, in the beginning, that is. Came into the Sheriff’s office one day to introduce himself. Had a basket full of baked goods too. He pretty much B lined for Earl, sweet-talked him, luring him into those blue eyes. It’s all an act! But we all fuckin’ believed it, Rookie. Except for Joey that is.”

Rook lets out a little laugh. He doesn’t doubt it for a second he knows John Seed tried to play them all, he’s tried it before and luckily Rook saw right through that act.

“All that act and for what?” Rook asks, though he already knows the answer.

“It’s obvious! The gifts, the sweet talk and hell he even gave us a small donation for building maintenance, he wanted us under his thumb. I don’t want to sound like Joey here but, Joseph gets an island, builds a compound and overtime that compound isn’t big enough, so John buys up land, knocks out whoever denies his older brother. He gets food suppliers under his thumb, hunters, doctors, labour workers anybody he can sink his claws into…and that Rookie, includes us.” Staci has a hand pushing back loose curls out of his face, he’s a little red around the cheeks and Rook can’t tell if its anger or if he’s just warm.

Rook knew that. It was so painfully obvious.

“What about Jacob Seed?” Rook asks. Pratt takes a quick side glance before keeping his gaze on the road ahead.

“What about him?”

“Well, how does he fit in? Joseph-The leader-The Father,” Rook almost cringes letting those words come out. It feels heavy on his tongue. “He recruits his youngest brother, John-The Lawyer, for financial and legal support. Makes sense running a movement this large, But for the oldest?” Rook inhales and it almost sounds like a tut. “How does he fit into all this?”

The hand that was threading fingers between dark black strands have snaked down and around the back of Pratt’s neck, working away at stress-induced knots from either work or a sleepless night. He’s still got one hand on the steering wheel.

“He’s Ex-Military. Helps Joseph run security.” It’s drawn out, Pratt picks and chooses his words as if they’re explosive, fragile and ready to go off if he selects wrong.

“That’s weird,” Rook says looking confused.

Pratt turns to look at him, “How so?”

“I looked him up on our database, Not a single speck of dust on him, no military records…nada” Rook says. Joey told him this and Rook made sure by checking the system himself. Joey knows that Jacob is Ex-Military and even told Rook that. So why had Pratt reacted like he was the only one in Montana that knew those Fatigues were legitimate and not some knock off fashion choice.

Pratt looks stunned for a moment, unsure how to handle himself, where he should place his hands and what he should say. He seems to buffer like a loading screen. He fell right into Rooks snare and he didn’t even realise Rook was the one who set it.

“Oh right. Yeah that’s…that’s weird.” His hand returns to the wheel.

Neither of them breaks the silence that consumes them for the rest of the ride back.

* * *

Everyone is preoccupied by the time Staci and Elijah get into the station. The fans are wiring into background noise, although, the air is still hot, and Rook can still feel the sweat form on his back and forehead. Joey is at her desk filling out a form with a civilian. Rook hasn’t seen this woman before, Joey doesn’t introduce them as both he and Pratt walk in. Shaw isn’t here, Rook notes. His desk is always spotless and undisturbed. It’s odd to Rook that the desk is lined with dust. It’s no surprise that he’s not a desk jockey like Pratt. Shaw seems like the type of guy that thinks he’ll die if he stops moving. Elijah wonders briefly what a man like him does in his free time. Although his personality screams sports and beer Rook is certain that Shaw isn’t all that invested in a normal lifestyle.

Earl Peaks his head out of his office door looking between Rook and Pratt who has just plonked himself down at his desk. Using the elastic hair tie around his wrist he pulls back long thick hair into a small ponytail that just about manages to pull together. He looks different with his hair pulled out of the way, younger even.

“How was Mr Adams,” Earl says in a low voice not wanting to disturb Joey. He’s leaning against the doorway, one hand on his hip and the other cradling a canister. Pratt begins to groan out a response but gets an immediate glare from Hudson, she clears her throat as a warning and that’s enough to make Staci stop in his tracks.

Rook leans against Earls office wall close enough to the Sheriff so that he can talk low but still hear him. “Pratt did most of the talking, did a great job up until John started to goad Mr Adams.” Rook gives a quick glance at Staci and Staci nods in approval. Rook continues, “Mr Adams got drunk, sold over his property to John without a second thought.” There isn’t much sympathy to Rooks words. Whitehorse can hear it. He hums low for a short second. “He was always a drinker,” Earl says to Rook. Although Rook knew as much. Rook knows that if he goes to look him up in their files, he’ll find some drunken assault fines and maybe some speeding tickets.

“No use calling John in either. He probably had the paperwork ready before you got there.” There’s a short sigh that comes out of Earl like he knows he’s already lost. Hell, he probably knew that as soon as Pratt got the call out. “What happened after that?”

“Well, John prided himself on being the most gracious man on this earth and then offered him a couple of days to pack up and get out.”

“That was before he threatened to bury the whole family under the house!” Pratt interjects too loudly. Joey slams her pen on the desk. Pratt apologises and Shrinks down into his chair. Elijah smirks, glints of teeth showing under his lips.

“That’s not unlike John Seed,” Earl says as his free hand comes up to rub the corners of his eyes, despite the occasional extra hour or two Earl was taking off to get some rest Rook could clearly see that the sleepless nights have plagued him just as much as they’ve plagued the Deputy. Rook wonders if anyone else has had the same dreams of red blanketing the sky.

“Alright. Thanks for the good work boys.” Sheriff Whitehorse tips his head to them both and disappears back into his office. Rook is certain the aircon works the best in there.

Rook sits down at his desk. Pratt already announced that Elijah would be the one to write the report on this morning. He said that Elijah would need to learn the most important skill here in the Hope County Sheriff’s department, and that was learning to sit and write up a report. But that obviously came after giving out endless speeding tickets.

It wasn’t hard writing up the events that happened and how the Deputies responded. Rook wasn’t academically brilliant. He never cared for anything outside of keeping his body busy because if he could do that his mind would stay quiet. He supposes that’s why he failed most of his classes outside of sports, then again, he knew he was shit at that too. Just floating through schools, through life until finally, something took him somewhere.

When he enlisted it was the quickest decision of his life, no hesitation. Rook remembers the exact moment he got the call. The recruiter said a friend of his put his name down for possible recruitment, which was odd to Elijah considering he didn’t know anyone that had gone into the army or marines. Rook was barely living then, one-bed apartment with mould climbing the walls. The way he looked up at the ceiling as the recruitment officer faded into white noise, trying tactics to persuade Elijah to join but Elijah had already made his decision when he accepted the call.

He remembered as a kid he’d stare into the textured wallpaper and see shapes forming into creatures and faces. As he looked up at his apartment ceiling 7 years later, all he could see was white, an endless sea of nothing, at that moment he knew his childhood was lost on him. It was no longer a necessity to cling onto those memories of imaginary monsters. Accepting that call was like saying a eulogy for his younger self. Something he knew was going to have to happen eventually.

It was fast the process, moving out with just one box packed with personal belongings, despite them never actually feeling personal to him. They had become things he had obtained over time. Gifts from birthdays or memories from previous relationships. Things he had no use, for now, especially not where he was headed.

He drove to his mothers, left the box and apologised.

When Rook finally logged in the report he looked down at his watch, two hours had gone by. The woman at Joey’s desk had left and Rook realised he hadn’t heard them leave. He hadn’t even realised Pratt was now gone from his desk and speaking to Hudson by the old coffee pot. Wiping the sleep away from his eyes he took a moment to regain his senses. It didn’t feel like dissociating…right? He was fully aware of what he was doing until…where did that time go.

“You finally finished Rookie?” Joey calls from the side. Both her and Pratt are staring at him.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry, I took so long.”

Her eyes although like always narrowed-searching and judging there was just a hint of sympathy. “You don’t remember falling asleep?”

Rook blinked looking back the computer, his head ducked under the weight of his hand as he pushed down on tough knots on the base of his neck.

“Yeah of course. I've not been sleeping so well.” 

Pratt agreed and said he had been having the same problem, sleepless nights and endless days. Joey smirked, a loud choked laugh grinding from the back of her throat. “We all know why that is.” She responds and Pratt goes red.

They bicker again. The hum of fans taking over the thoughts bashing against Elijah’s skull. His stomach ached, not out of hunger but the type of dull pain that vibrates like church bells. Sudden pulses in a long drawn out ringing sensation, banging against the confines of his ribs. The type of pain reminds him of a taught metal chain ready to snap and release whatever it's containing.

It’s the type of pain that tells him. Something awful is about to happen.

Shaw arrives just gone 6 PM. No one asks where he's been so Rook assumes, he’d just taken the day off. He does notice the mud Shaw trails in. Thick clumps that have somewhat dried in odd over spilt shapes. No one seems to question that either.

Rook gets up silently, the strange fuzz misting around the back of his head. Its an odd sensation, but he'd felt it before, it’s like something has forced him out of his own body and left the shell on auto-drive.

It’s just the sleepless nights.

Rook stands for a moment. Amongst that strange fogginess, he knows there was something important for him to do. There was something he had to say too…

“Shift over?” Pratt says as he pops a small hard piece of gum into his mouth.

Rook shakes off any feeling and thought.

“Yeah, early start tomorrow. You finished?” Rook grabs his phone from the side of his desk slipping it into his back pocket.

“Yeah gotta finish up with something first, see you, tomorrow Rookie.” Pratt stands giving a small wave with his hand.

Rook leaves. He gets into his truck and drives home.

“Give it everything you’ve got or die.”

The ground shakes, Rook can’t tell if it’s from the booming voice echoing around him or the bright of red that’s erupting from the far distance.

The waves of smoke get bigger, brighter and louder. It’s just one long echoing boom and Rook can see in the distance the fast approaching wave of dust and grit. He can’t move, he can’t turn his head can’t even move his hands. He’s forced to look with pried eyes at the unstoppable tidal wave. Rook can’t explain it, but he knows the wave is his, the eruption of reds and oranges are _his_?

“It looks like your wrath.”

Rook wants to turn. The voice so close now speaking into the small of his ear. He can feel the warmth of lips against his cheek.

The waves encroach decimating everything Rook can see. It gets closer, _faster faster faster._

Just before it hits, Rook jolts. His arms coming up to block the dust that’s no longer there. He opens his eyes and sees nothing. There’s no red that encompasses the world around him, there’s no one behind him, there’s nothing except the faint green glow of his bedside clock.

4.06 AM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was really fucking hard for me to write, which is why it's really short. However, the next chapter is going to be fire and I promise we'll get closer to actual Seed content.  
> Also opinions on an interlude chapter of Staci/Jacob content?
> 
> I wonder if anyone knows what's up with Elijah?
> 
> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated!  
> Wanna follow me?  
> Twitter: Glitcheddead  
> Tumblr: Glitcheddead


	6. CHAPTER SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Beta-read!

_**2 days before the reaping**_

Rook’s routine doesn’t change. He supposes that’s what was wrong at first. A subtle change that's managed to slip in between the cracks of his normal routine and it's sent him spiralling into nightmarish nights and equally hellish mornings, but nothing changes.

Wake, shower, eat, work, eat, sleep and repeat.

The water thrums against his back-leaving skin red and almost too sensitive to touch. It feels nice despite the temperature bordering on too hot, it wakes him though. The heat lulls him out of his sleepless wander. He doesn’t remember getting home from work. Not really. He remembers the fields and roads being overtly loud. Despite the lack of noise from man-made forces. The fields and encompassing forests were loud with wildlife. Even as the sun was setting across the Valley, Rook could hear the humming of crickets.

He doesn’t remember turning up the dirt path and parking up outside. He doesn’t remember tearing off his uniform and crawling into bed.

He just remembers the sun lowering and then red. A bleached red that consumes his vision like a migraine on steroids. It's blinding. Rook wakes undecided if its all a metaphor for his bad life choices or just nightmares infused by his current surroundings. Whatever it is, it leaves a bad taste in his mouth- sends him gasping for water as soon as his body wakes, it’s like the dream burns away at any water in his body.

“Where the fuck…” he mutters grinding teeth together as he looks for his phone. He’s just about dressed and for the first time late for work. He moves around the kitchen and then to the living room throwing up cushions and sprawled clothes looking for the small black phone, not that he necessarily needs it.

The only person that’s texted him since his mother has been Pratt and of course Niesha.

Rook throws down the armchair pillow.

“Niesha…Oh you fucking idiot.” Rooks already out the door. It’s just before 5 AM when Rook lets his front door creak to a close. The early Montana air breezes through trees. It’s refreshing and Rook almost stops to bathe in it for a moment. The cool air touching damp overheated skin. The sun is just peaking. Rook can see the bright yellows cast down through branches.

When Rook reaches the Howard Cabin door, he notices the large wooden plaque has fallen, unbroken but its been forced off the wall, the nails are splayed across the ground.

His hand goes to push the door open, but it’s locked. There’s no giving which thankfully means Niesha is still home. Although as Rook goes to the side window, he sees the curtains have been replaced. Instead thick plywood board lays up against the inside of the window.

“Mrs Howard?” Rooks says. He’s backed up a few paces his hands coming over to shield his eyes from the waking sun.

There’s no response. Rook assumes it’s because she’s asleep, her car is still parked to the side and there’s no evidence of her packing up and leaving. Sure, the windows are odd, but it doesn’t mean she’s not safe.

Rook retreats back down to his car and gets in. His phone is sat cold in the cupholder. “Shit.” He groans as the LED blinks red. He uses the remaining battery to call her but to no surprise, there’s no answer.

“Niesha, It’s Elijah. I’m sorry I never came to see you,” He inhaled. His breath wavering on exhausted and ashamed. “I tried this morning but hell it’s 5 AM and you’re probably getting the rest you deserve. Listen- I’ll stop by after work. If you need me before just come to the station.”

Rook puts the phone back into the cupholder. As he starts the car, he realises how disappointed his mother would be if she was still alive.

* * *

Rook arrives a little after half five. All the cruisers are parked out front including Whitehorse’s beat truck.

“Who took my god damn mints!?” Joey yelled from her desk. Pratt turned almost immediately to get out of his chair. “Where have you hidden them? Tell us now or forever hold your peace.” Rook pushes against the back of Pratt’s chair to stop him from swerving to safety. His hands clamping down on the plastic rim behind Pratt’s head.

“I haven’t got your damn mints I swear!” Staci’s hands hold up in a surrender.

Rooks grinning, there’s a moment of tranquillity that he can ease himself into, everyone feels less tense today. Joey hasn’t mentioned the fury she’s felt with how banged up her car looks, and Pratt hasn’t given Rook the odd glance of guilt. He hasn’t known them long, he can’t say what Pratt’s favourite colour is or what Joey’s maiden name is but it’s the only thing that’s felt right since his arrival. Rook isn’t possessive but he knows if anything were to happen to them…

“Can you guys stop behaving like kids?” Shaw announces as he cuts between an oncoming Hudson and Pratt’s desk. “You’ve got one of the most important jobs and you gotta quarrel over some gum?”

“Yeah. I do.” Hudson starts and before she can continue Shaw pulls out a small blue tin of what Rook can only assume are Hudson’s mints. “Plus, you mean _my_ mints?” He rattles it and a few remaining chunks of gum rattle in the box.

“Shaw, you giant asshole.” Joey starts after him but he’s already making leeway to the doors.

“You can’t just walk in like this Miss Fairgrave?!”

Nancy calls from the doorway. The office goes quiet as their dispatcher storms after Mary May. She pushes the door open and just before it rebounds against the wall with a smack Nancy braces it, thankfully saving the wall from an indent and the deputies a migraine.

Whitehorse already has his body out his office door observing the dramatics about to unfold. Rook can see that familiar exhaustion that tells him; _oh, here we go again._

Joey steps toward her arms out ready to grip onto Mary Mays forearms. The touch is soft and gentle. Mary May is clad in her usual style. A t-shirt that grips just too tight up to her neck and a flannel that hangs tied around her waist.

“What’s wrong?” Joey is quiet any remnants of humour or anger is gone. She sounds sympathetic. She’s good at that, using body language to convey a sense of calm and reassurance. Mary May has stopped in her steps and taken a deep breath.

She’s not angry, not necessarily. Rook can see that in the way she holds herself and how she looks up at Joey through thick lashes. Eyes full of concern. She’s not quite scared but there’s a sense of fear that oozes out of her posture. There’s fear in her as well as a deep burning flame. Well prepared, thought out like anger it's been lying in wait, patiently and quietly.

Nancy is still stood in the doorway. Worming her way inside until she closes the main door behind her, leaving the front desk unattended. She hangs back without a word and only Rook seems to acknowledge her presence here.

“I think something bad is about to happen.” She says and it's almost breathless. Shaw has seemed to move closer in and Mary May locks eyes with him. She doesn’t seem to be threatened by his movement, comforted in fact.

“I swear if it’s that-" Joey starts and Mary May quickly shakes her head.

“No. No it's not him.”

Rook doesn’t understand the specifics of what they’re talking about, but he has a vague idea who _‘he’_ possibly is.

“Yesterday a young group came through Falls. About three of them.” She began. Joey led her toward Rook and Pratt's desk. Pratt offers up his seat, but Mary May smiles thinly as she mouths; no thank you. Shaw has followed them both close behind.

“You remember Mark, right?”

Joey and Pratt nod at the same time. Mary May mirrors them, “Good. Well, a group of kids came by the bar yesterday mornin’. They met with Mark, said they had a vlogging channel, investigating conspiracies, strange disappearances and whatnot.”

Shaw lets out an audible grunt. His arms crossing over his chest. He already knows where this is going and so does Rook.

“Mark told them about his sister, how she just up and left one night, how Eden’s Gate took her. They didn’t stick around for long...by the time I served them drinks they were ready to go. But before they left, I heard Mark talk about Joseph’s Sermon.”

“John rushed off pretty quickly to the Sermon yesterday. It was just before midday.” Pratt states as he leans back to look at Earl. Earl has his hand under his nose, flattening out stray strands of wiry hair.

“The kids were meant to come back today. They were meant to be stayin’ in the old lodger cabin, but they never came to get the keys.”

There’s a brief pause. Joey lets her go as she moves to grab her phone out of her back pocket. It takes a moment but soon enough she has a video playing. She’s placed the phone flat out on the surface of Pratts desk. Earl moves behind Pratt to get a better look as Rook shifts to the side. 

The video is shaky. The quality significantly grainy as a young man, maybe the same age as Rook, talks into the phone.

“Eden’s gate are here.... in... Hope County Montana.” He begins. He’s out of breath. His eyes darting around. He’s bruised and dirtied.

“If you’re watching this you already know what's happening...”

The sound becomes too muffled for Rook to hear, but he doesn’t have to hear it to know what's happening. His chest tightens.

“They’re taking people...they have... Hannah...they have Sarah.”

The office is so still. Rook can’t hear anyone breathe.

“Don’t forget about us...stop them please...please!”

Gunshots echo loudly behind the guy in the video. The picture cuts off. No one attempts to say anything, for a short moment, everyone tried to find the rights words to form on their tongues. The next video starts to autoplay. There’s four of them hiding behind a fallen tree. The sound of water someway behind them distracts Rook.

“Okay, uhm so we just tailed Marks sister...”

The young guy is speaking again. Less bruised and dirtied. The camera isn’t moving as much as he braces his back against the tree.

“We are trailing them on foot through the forest but uh it’s getting a little strange?”

The camera turns.

“Oh fuck.” Joey manages to choke out the words. She’s left Mary May’s side. The hand at her mouth covers the anger that suddenly blows across her lips, curling them up into a snarl. She looks like she might be sick.

“-and when you arise...you will be worthy of atonement.”

Rook knows that voice. Everyone knows that voice.

The woman in the lake is being held down her body thrashing as she tries to shake off the two large peggies that have her pinned under the water. They’re pouring something into the stream that makes the surface shimmer like an oil spill.

John walks into frame his hands outstretched as he strides the thin line of the water's edge.

Rook can’t tell if he wants to throw up or kick the desk over. He can feel his scarred brow twitch in irritation, he hasn’t yet looked up to see anyone else’s reaction- too mesmerized at the way John speaks, the way his fingers are stretching out for nothing, the way his words heighten in volume and then disappear as if he was saying nothing at all.

“Hello there little sheep"

The camera turns fast. Its blurry and seems to jolt in frames but just before the video ends the last few seconds are of Jacob Seeds face, lips turned up in a thin grin. His grip tight on a pistol. Rook can make out the model. It’s a P226 for sure. Except there’s an all too familiar insignia engraved onto the side.

The video cuts to black and now that Rook can look away, he sees Pratt get up from his chair. His face white, sickly as if he had just adopted a fever. His eyes are wide and to Rooks surprise almost unreadable.

“I....I need to...” Staci barely stutters out before he makes way out of the huddled group and toward the restroom. Rook can hear laughter begin to bubble from Pratt's throat, the way his shoulders shake in a way that convinces Rook it’s out of nervousness. His hands come up to grip onto the back of his neck in a desperate grasp for stability.

Mary May hands over her phone to Whitehorse. “There’s more than a handful of these videos, Earl.” She says, “The viewing count keeps rising too. More than a couple thousand views.” Although she’s speaking to Whitehorse, her eyes are focused on Rook and Rook can’t help but keep the contact, unable to pull away.

“Shaw take the unmarked cruiser toward the compound. Don’t approach anyone until I give you the go-ahead. Stay out of sight. I’m going to need you on the ground for a while.” Earl does his best not to look panicked. He's angry. He’s finally getting the proof and evidence that he needs but Elijah sees the way he looked down at Mary May’s phone.

He’s disappointed as if the ignorance he had been hiding behind had finally been torn away from him. He wished he could roll over and deal with it another day, he knows this is the beginning of something, he’s always known it and he knows he can’t stop it now. The veil has been torn.

“Joey high alert. Escort Miss Fairgrave back to the bar and get back pronto, we're gunna need all the manpower. Rook check on Pratt and bring him back here, I’m going to need you both awake for this. I need to make an urgent call.”

Shaw had already left without hesitation. His body practically launching out the double doors as he heads for the cruiser.

Joey extends a hand over the small of Mary Mays back, guiding her outside. They talk but its low whispers Rook can’t make out.

Where the hell did Nancy go?

Rook takes a minute to finally exhale alone in the silence. His lungs deflating as he releases his breath that he feels like he’s held for so long. The whirr of cheap plastic fans rattle in the silence. Elijah eventually knocks on the door to the restroom. There’s a quick rustling behind the bolted door and then a stillness that Rook can recognise, it reminds him of the same action someone would do to conceal something- caught red-handed.

“Pratt?” Rook gains no response. He feels a tightening in his chest, a sympathy he’s not had for quite a while. Not since he came to Hope, now however he feels like he has to dish it out left right and centre.

“Staci you gotta come out.” Rooks a little louder this time but there’s still no response.

“Shit. I know this is…fucked up,” Rook lets go of a sigh, “If you hide away in there Shaw will come back and take the door off its hinges just by looking at it.” Both of them know that this isn’t a threat. It’s a sport and Shaw would be more than happy to play it.

“Give…me a minute.” Staci finally announces.

Rook can hear the tap turn on.

Staci doesn’t take too long to unbolt the door and come out. Rook has backed up a few paces, giving the other Deputy the breathing room he looks like he anxiously needs. His shoulders tight, hands clinging to his sides like he’s completely stiff, frozen still. His hair has been pushed back out the way and the soft sensitive skin around his eyes has become red stained. The tale-tell sign of someone crying.

Rook doesn’t know how to comfort that. Not really. He supposes that’s why he’s never been completely receptive in a relationship. He doesn’t know if it’s too much for Staci if Rook were to hold him for a moment.

“Hey,” Rook says, it’s almost whispered.

“What I saw-“

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Pratt. What we saw…it was fucked up.” He interjects before Pratt can continue and he looks grateful for it. The tension in his shoulders melting away.

Pratt focuses on the ground for a beat. The way his eyes drop to the floor and then pull up to look past Rook rather than at him. “Yeah…Thanks” is all he can squeeze out. Rook rests a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t know what for exactly. He doesn’t know Staci Pratt. He doesn’t ask because it’s not his place to ask.

“If Whitehorse sees us slacking right now, I think he may shoot us both.” Elijah grins and Staci almost smiles back.

Whitehorse is in his office. The door is shut and the blind to the singular window on the right of the wall has been closed. The wooden slats pressed up tight against the glass. Pratts now resting against the edge of his desk, his arms firmly crossed against his chest.

Rook can hear Earl shouting obscenities down the phone, it would’ve been surprising if the situation wasn’t as serious as it was.

_so much for an easy day._

Fuck. Rook thinks. Rook hasn’t just been hit with the reality of the situation, he’s almost known it since he sat down in isle 22 seat C. He’s been preparing for something to go down for a while, but he hadn’t imagined this. He hadn’t imagined the kidnapping of several kids, he hadn’t imagined a cult corrupting the core of the county and he certainly hadn’t imagined he’d be part of the Sheriff’s department that saves the day.

“You know, back in the army we got a basic run down for hostage situations but,” Rook grins turning to Pratt, “I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared for something this big.”

Pratt stops turning that old leather bracelet in his hand, “You were in the army?”

“Boys,” Earl announces from the doorway before Rook can even open his mouth to answer. His hat is off, and his face is flustered red. Sweat starting to build around his temples. There’s a moments silence, Earl has his mouth open and then closed like a fish out of water. He’s not sure how to begin or where to finish.

“I finally got the National Guard comin’.” He’s holding firm onto his hat, although one hand is tapping the brim in an attempt to ground himself. “I’ve been trying them for weeks.” He admits and Pratt's eyebrows raise.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Pratt pushes himself up from the desk.

“Because they were never goin’ to come Pratt. Not with the empty box of evidence we had gathering dust but now…well they’ve seen the videos and they’re gunna send the whole national guard.”

“Why don’t we attempt to take them now?” Pratt says and almost immediately wishes he didn’t.

“Because it’s a suicide mission! We storm on in now- “

“I can take the bird to meet Shaw we can- “

“No Pratt. We wait. I know you want to help son, but you can as soon as we get the back-up we need.”

Staci sits back against the desk. “I need to contact Shaw. You both stay here. Any calls come in, tell me, I need to know everything that happens.”

“Yes Sir” Pratt responds, and Rook gives a half nod.

Earl gives a small gentle gesture of his hand and retreats to his office.

* * *

Rook doesn’t get a call from Niesha. He doesn’t see her come down to the station either. Thinking back on it now, he realises that maybe she knew something was going to happen with the cult. The boarded windows nailed to the inside of her home, John Seed visiting her late hours of the night. Maybe John paid her a visit as he did for the Adams residence. Rook remembers the bunker door in her porch. She’ll be okay, he reassures himself. She is okay.

Pratt gets a call within the first ten minutes of waiting around. Those ten feel like hours, like waiting for water to boil over the edge of a pan. Its anxiety-inducing waiting around for anything…something to happen. 

“Hope County Sheriff’s Department. This is Deputy Pratt speaking.”

Rook doesn’t look up from his position. Not until there’s a prolonged space between picking up the phone and Staci not seeming to answer.

He notices Rook looking at him, there’s a visible shake in his shoulders that looks more like a tense tightening. “Thanks for calling I’ll be sure to take that into consideration.” He says through gritted teeth. The words are forced, and Rook can see how it makes him shove the phone back into its socket.

“Prank calls. We get them a lot.”

Rook doesn’t doubt that, but he does know whatever was said to him on the other end was nothing bar of a joke. Pratt doesn’t get called again. Their phones don’t go off and Nancy doesn’t come in to alert them on any reports. Time seems to slow down, it’s suffocating for both Rookie and Pratt.

Eventually Joey Radios to Elijah, the radio vibrates before crackling to life. Rook unclips it from his belt and accepts the incoming call.

“Rookie this is Hudson.” She sounds just how the rest of them are feeling, tense, on edge and unprepared.

“I read you, Hudson, this is Rook.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Joey tells the two that Mary May is back at the Spread Eagle and although she’s been left in safe hands Joey wants to make sure that ‘that rat John’ doesn’t turn up looking for her. Rook can’t help but laugh. She’s laying low in the cruiser for a while, she says.

“I’m parked just next to the bar…I’m seeing vehicles packed Rook.” There’s that concern. That wavering exhale that sits just on the tongue as the radio crackles.

“Residence must’ve seen the videos.” Rook concurs but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

“Yeah and if they’ve managed to see them…”

“-They know.” Pratt chimes in, he has his hands interlocked together over his chest. He’s looking down at the floor-stained with coffee and dirt. There’s a prolonged silence before Hudson agrees with a simple “Yeah.”

Rook can see why it’s so concerning. Hope County isn’t an advanced country. Its residence doesn’t tend to keep up with latest technology, hell some don’t even own a TV let alone a smartphone. If people are packing up and running scared it’s because of those videos and word of mouth. And they most definitely have been seen by Eden’s Gate.

Hudson goes on to describe how many cars there are speeding through just Falls End alone. Too many for the department to write up tickets for. People driving like crazy, bags and boxes stuffed inside, outside and strapped down on cargo carriers. “It feels like the world is suddenly ending.”

Rook feels an uncomfortable heat on the back of his neck, sickly and feverish when Hudson says that. She doesn’t say anything else, not until she arrives back at the station an hour later.

* * *

“Mary May is held up in her bar with a few of her patrons as well as colleagues. She’s gunna hold up tight with them until this blow over.” Hudson says on the other side of Earls desk. Earl grunts in acknowledgement.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if half the county has made a quick exit.” His voice groans out in an almost grating sound.

Hudson, Pratt and Rook are packed into Whitehorse’ office. Earl has moved half of his personal belongings off his desk, one of the items Rook notes being a framed picture of his ex-wife, pilled with other various desk items on the ground. He’s laid out a large map with some stacks of paper next to it. Rook also notices that small Eden’s gate pendant on the corner pushing down an edge like a paperweight.

“Shaw is waiting near the Old Sun Outfitters just outside Josephs compound.”

“The crossroads?” Pratt asks and Earl points at the exact location. Just at the head of the entrance to the island.

“He can’t take on the peggies by himself Earl,” Hudson says as she crosses her arms across her chest.

“Well let’s hope he doesn’t have to engage. He’s not there to take anyone down.” Earl replies as he slides his hands away from the desk. “I hate to say it but we’re on full shifts tonight and tomorrow until the National Guard arrives. They’ll take care of the rest.”

Pratt tries not to audibly groan, if anything it’s shadowed by Hudson muttering her thanks into the hand she’s rubbing across her face.

“I’m sorry you were dragged into this so suddenly Rook.” Earl continues, the other two take it as an indication to leave. First Hudson who slowly turns and drifts around the corner and then Pratt who gives him the side-eye, Rook can hear a ‘good luck’ in the way he looks at him.

“Sir…You couldn’t have predicted this, no one could’ve.”

“Don’t lie Rookie.”

Rook holds his gaze, Earl is the one to look away.

“No one could’ve predicted this.” Rook assures again. “Sure, the signs were there but they had…engrained themselves- the cult into the county, you couldn’t have known the extent they’d go to.” Rook can’t tell if he’s trying to convince himself let alone Whitehorse.

“I understand if you want to leave, I’ll hold nothing against you son.” Elijah almost feels sorry for him.

“Sir, I don’t think I can walk away now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I may or may not have changed the timestamps because fuck I do just want to get in with the nitty-gritty.  
> Wanna talk about HCs or OCs? Catch me on my socials:  
> Twitter: GLITCHEDDEAD  
> Tumblr: GLITCHEDDEAD  
> Kudos and comments are so very appreciated :')


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill folks. This chapter has not been beta-read.

What Rook feels in his gut can only be described as a steadily escalating sense of foreboding. It’s felt between them all, that intense anticipation that sits in the pits of your chest and clouds the head. It's like waiting at the bottom of a large dam, at first only seeing a few hairline cracks through concrete but now the water groans through its fragile confines and all the Sheriffs can do is sit and wait.

The frustration of not being able to do anything is at least shared across the three youngest Deputies. Pratt, however, doesn’t seem as agitated as the rest. He's wearing that armour again that allows cocky deputy to shield himself off from the rest of them. Rook doesn’t know if that’s to help ease the others, a sweet attempt at comic relief or if its to ease his own anxieties.

Shaw has been gone for over 9 hours. He’s radioed in twice during this time. The first to check-in, following up with how Hudson’s mints are serving him well. The second time he reports large convoys moving in and out of the compound.

He describes the first truck as white, no surprise, it looks to be the same height and width as a removal van. Then four smaller open roof trucks carrying flowers. Rook isn’t new to these flowers.

The big snowdrop lilies that gather like weed spreading across the henbane. At first, he assumed it was a reintroduction to an endangered species of plant that just grew too rapid to control, but then he noticed the piles of it, how large quantities are gathered in decorated bunches.

Rook remembers his first day cruising up through the henbane. Shaw had his window shut and that occurred to Rook as a little odd given how hot it was. It became slightly more apparent as to why Shaw kept it shut as his eyes began to burn at the edges. His cheeks felt warm and his eyes felt fogged. He assumed it was hay fever- not that he had ever had it before- or the beginnings of a migraine but Shaw pulled up the passenger window without a word. It didn’t take long for Rook to shake off the haze that left him daydreaming for a while. 

Shaw continues to say that the trucks don't stop after that. He even goes to say that the last six have large military-grade mounted guns welded onto the back of the vehicles. “The convoy split from the back. The last couple mounted trucks are headin’ toward the valley. The rest are straight north.”

Joey held that snarl on her lips, the kind that makes you think a person like her could snap someone’s neck if she tried. Rook avoided eye contact with her, it was enough for him to witness her explode at Pratt when he tried to ease her down, she retaliated, smacking his hand off her shoulder as she threw her arms up.

“The fucking Valley Staci! How are you so fucking calm?”

“Hey enough!” Earl interjected before Pratt could say something that would earn him a fist to the face. “Go take a breather.”

So, she did. Without another word she spun on her heel and paced out the double doors. The wall earning a hard smack as the handle bounced off the badly indented plaster, clearly used to years of assault.

It wasn’t until half an hour later she returned, but her lip still twitched.

Staci continued to stay calm, he tried to shake the sad-eyed puppy look he had adopted when she yelled at him. But, despite the verbal bollocking, he had just managed to scrape his dignity off the dirtied floor, no thanks to Earl.

Throughout the evening both Elijah and Staci remain quiet, attentive even. Right now, they both know that there’s no need to waste energy on yelling ‘whys’ and ‘how’s'.

“No movement from Joseph Seed.” Shaw pauses, “Or any of the others for that matter. Hell, he might have left in the trucks for all I know.” Shaw continues. He's still perched in the front seat of his unmarked silver cruiser. He’s exchanged his button-up for a plain black shirt and a baseball cap. He sticks out, ironically. Everyone in that 20-mile radius is harbouring overgrown hair and off-white garments.

“Thank you, Shaw. Keep your line quiet unless you need us. The guard should be sending men in little under 20 hours.”

The line goes quiet and so does the office. “So, we're just going to sit and wait, for now, sir?” Elijah asks. Although Earl has expressed his dislike for the addressal, Rook can’t help but fall into his old military sway- it makes him wince to even sound like he could be back there.

It’s odd, Rook thinks, to have such an experience that can impact you in a way that makes it feel like it only happened yesterday and years ago all at the same time.

“For now,” Earl grunts out as he gets up from the empty desk at the far right of the office. “Hudson you're staying here, I've got far too many civilians that need to be taken care of. Pratt, take Elijah toward Ryes place. Routine check through the Valley make sure that convoy is nowhere near that town.”

Pratt holds his breath but nods accordingly.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Earl holds them there for a moment longer before encouraging Hudson into his office.

* * *

Elijah takes a moment by the cruiser. There’s a cooling heat from the roof as Dep perches his hands against it. The suns just peaking behind thick trees as it sets, it gives the Valley an almost reddish-golden glow.

He can’t explain to Pratt why he feels like going to Falls is a bad idea. Not that Falls End is the problem itself, but Elijah feels a sickly sweat on the back of his neck. He can’t convince Pratt that they should just stay. Rook feels the word ‘coward' carved in jagged words on his back.

“What’s wrong?” Staci says opening the car door. He can clearly see the hesitation, the stiffness in Rooks body.

“You know that feeling you get? The kind that makes you want to be sick at the thought of doing something?” He replies not quite sure how to make it sound rational.

“Are you gunna be sick?”

“What? No? No.” Rook inhales a ragged breath. “Call it instinct or a gut feeling but I feel like going to Falls is a bad idea.”

“Oh.” Staci nods looking a little relieved that Rook literally didn’t mean throwing up. Staci exhales a breath that almost borders on a laugh. “Well, what do you think we do, Rook? We walk back into that station, Whitehorse would beat us for inso...uhm insoboard-"

“-insubordination” Elijah corrects with a something to akin of a flinch. It catches both of them at an awkward off guard as Rook recoils away from the car as if his hands had been burned, he pulls them to rest almost rigidly by his side.

“Yeah. Why did you flinch like that?” Pratt asks but quickly his eyes close and his face twists in the realization of how insensitive that sounds, “Ah don’t answer that.” He takes a hard breath, trying to rectify the conversation. “Falls is fine, if there are convoys then we back off. Earl wouldn’t engage so why would we?” he slides into the cruiser not a moment later and starts the engine.

Rook knows that much. Earl wouldn’t engage unless necessary. He certainly wouldn’t expect his two youngest deputies to do it either. Rook doesn’t want to feel that sickly twist in his stomach that works itself up to the throat. He was taught to lose his gut instinct, only trust his head and the facts, Obey orders without hesitation.

Not listening to that instinct that apprises him of danger is what landed him this position in Montana. It’s what scarred him deeper than any bruise or bump that skims his surface. As he slides into the car, he hopes he can push the feeling down into the pits of his stomach.

By the time Pratt drives into Holland Valley, the noticeable shift in atmosphere catches them both by surprise. The sun has completely set now, the faint glow of the moon hidden behind sluggish clouds. The shock wedges itself at the back of Pratt's throat. “Holy fuck.” He coughs out. The car slows down just as he pulls up across from Golden Valley Gas.

Rook had only driven by a few days ago. It only felt like yesterday he had to run in for Shaw and grab that drink. Only yesterday he had seen that wolf in the back of the pickup. Only then did he have to squeeze past a mountain of a man to get to the drink Shaw requested. It had only been a couple of days.

But now, the Gas station was now destroyed. Glass smashed into thousands of crystallised shards. Dim illuminated lights flickering without proper rhyme. There are puddles of gas leaking out from unhinged pumps from inpatient residents fleeing Hope County. The shimmer on the ground flickers against the dark sky and bright car beams.

Pratt slows the car down till they're practically stopped. He keeps the engine at a low rumble as they both undoubtedly stare at the same thing. Even in the low light, the bright terracotta brick is stained black.

“Sinner.” Elijah reads.

Pratt says nothing. In the corner of Rook's eye, he can see Pratt nod slowly.

“I’m going inside. Wait here.” Elijah doesn’t hesitate as he pops the door handle and jumps out.

“Hey, hey, hey! Rook get back in the car!” Pratt calls with his arm outstretched reaching to grab the back of Rooks shirt.

Rook turns on a heel. He puts his index finger up near the open window. “One minute. Give me one quick minute. I just want to make sure there’s no one inside.”

Pratt groans, it sounds more like a whine but as he slaps his hand back on the steering wheel Rook takes that as a yes. He mouths a quick thank you before pacing over broken glass and spilt gas.

The door is hanging by its bottom hinges. It's awkwardly blocking the path in a diagonal slant. Rook has to climb over it in order to get inside. The broken glass crunched under the soles of his boots.

“Deputy comin’ in” He announces and almost feels stupid saying it when no one responds. The barely illuminated room flickers with pulsating bright pinks. The advertisement for the local brewery is hanging by a singular slat.

“Christ what a mess” Rook observes the inside of the store for a moment. Trashed would be an understatement. Shelves are broken and items no longer occupy the spaces they should, windows smashed and as Rook turns to look at the counter the register has been pulled open and emptied. He eases in posture as he rounds near the back of the store. There’s nothing left here. Rook would’ve classed it as old-fashioned looting but since the cult customised the outside to their liking he wouldn’t have been surprised to see some kind of theatrical scene on the inside. But, there’s nothing.

“Hey, Rook!” Pratt yells from the cruiser.

“Yeah comin’” Rook knows he doesn't say it loud enough for Staci to hear, it's a low gravelled grumble. As he rounds the last set of shelves, he hears something move to the right of him. It sounds like something dropping across the ground like a metal can would off a unit.

He turns sharply toward the small hallway. The lights have been smashed out and the door at the end has been broken in, boot marks dust the wood. Elijah slowly approaches the small entrance, his right-hand hovering over the holster on his hip. He despises how typically horror-Esque this all feels. From the bright neon’s in dark hallways to the suspicious rustling noises in the back room.

He pauses for a moment, waiting on any more movement. Hell, it could be a racoon for all he knows. “Deputy Rook here. You should come out, I’ll ask nicely once.”

There’s no response.

It’s not hard for him to swing around the corner of the bathroom entrance. His hand slides the gun out of his holster with ease, a quick drawn action he’s learnt to do without blinking. His left foot pushes the door down all the way, the cheap wood groans against the frame before colliding with the floor. His foot falls and swings around inside before the rest of his body follows. His arms outstretched in a way that looks completely natural for a man like him.

“Fuck!” He jolts, his right hand lowering the gun away from the figure, hiding in the corner.

Elijah remembers her to be the girl working behind the register. Her brown hair untucked and wild, like she had been gripping onto the roots for security. Her eyes are bloodshot and wide.

He doesn’t wait for a single second to holster his gun. It makes an audible click as he slides it back into place.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Elijah waits for her to slowly uncurl her body away from the wall. She’s shaking, he realises. As she puts her back to the wall and intakes a large hiccupped breath she almost smiles. “I think I scared you more.” Her voice wavering. She’s been crying for sure, the black of her mascara running down wet lashes and over reddened cheeks.

“You sure as hell did, didn’t you hear me calling?” Elijah sheds his jacket. An old dirt green bomber he’s had for a while. Surprisingly the nights in Hope get a little cold but he’s certain he won’t miss it. “Here, I got a car outside let’s get you home.” The Deputy holds out a free hand for her to take. Hesitantly she gets up. Like she’s still on alert waiting for something to attack.

  
“I-I heard you. I just wasn’t sure if it was that…that cult trying to lure me out.”

“Lure you out? Eden’s Gate did this?” As she gets to her feet, he puts the jacket around her, resting the large sides over the tops of her shoulders. She carefully grabs hold of the edges and pulls it around her. Rook notice’s her long sleeve shirt is torn around the shoulders and forearms. She doesn’t look like she’s bleeding.

“A-At first it was just customers…I think? It started getting real busy people grabbing what they can before shootin’ off and then...” She exhales shakily, her left hand comes to brush the mess of brown out of her face. “Those peggies arrived. Started declaring the beginnin’ of somethin’. I knew it was about to go down when one of the customers got mouthy, so I ran and locked the bathroom door. It got real loud and then real fuckin’ quiet quickly. Next thing I know some guy is trying to boot down the door but just before it breaks off, they leave…”

Elijah leads her through the shop as she speaks. He can see now as he looks down the blackened boot marks and specks of blood dance across the ground.

“Smart thinking,” Elijah commends as he climbs over the door first, then turning back to help her, “you must be pretty damn brave to do what you did.”

“What? Hide in a bathroom?” She laughs but it comes off a little sour. She uses Elijah’s arms to steady herself over the door frame. She’s careful to step on the other side as glass crunches under them.

“You survived. That’s smarter than what-ever the rest these folks did.”

“I don't feel very brave" she stills as she looks at the car behind Elijah. Pratts now unclipping his seat belt and popping the door open. Rook can hear a faint curse from behind.

“What’s your name again?”

“Deputy Rook. I don’t think I caught yours”

The young woman shakes under his jacket her hands pulling at the sides to completely wrap herself inside it. “I'm-"

“-Emily!” Pratt comes up behind Rook with his hands outstretched. They rest on her arms in a gentle comforting motion. “A-Are you hurt?”

Rook steps slightly to the side his boot scraping over leaked gas. He lets them catch up for the moment, Pratt asks what happened and she tells him what she told Rook.

“Fuck.” Staci exhales it out as he runs a hand through the thickened roots of his black hair. “We need to get you to the station. Your mum is probably worried.”

Emily gives a singular nod and starts to walk with Pratt to the car she turns to look at Rook and mouths a silent ‘Thank you’.

Pratt puts her in the back of the cruiser. Pulling out one of the blankets from the boot he rests it over her lap and shuts the door.

“Come on Rook.”

Rook hangs back for a moment the corner of his mouth tightens along with his jaw. “You take her back to the station. I’m gunna wait here. I’ll make sure anyone passing through goes elsewhere.” His shoulders tighten causing his posture to correct itself.

The groan that escapes Pratt is similar to a dog that’s been scolded or at least for Pratt he knows if he turns up at the station without Rook he will be. “Eli-"

“-I'll be fine Staci. You get her in with Hudson and I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“Fine okay, but you better be here in 30 minutes or so help me god I will kick your ass.”

“I believe that. 30 mins, stace.”

The other Deputy pats the roofing twice before giving Rook a short nod. He slides into the cruiser, starts the car and U-turns to the left avoiding any glass or debris that could cause a puncture.

The vague tinge of blue and red lighting disappears into the night as Pratt drives away leaving Rook behind.

* * *

Rook does another sweep around the station. He doesn’t find anything of large significance but notices behind the shop stained against the brick three large bloodstains spraying up the wall then pooling down on the gravelled pavement below.

Rook knows its blood. He’s seen it enough times to know that it is, even how it looks a dark thick black under the nights' sky. The metallic smell burns his nose, it makes him pace back a few steps before turning to the front again.

No civilians pass him. It's deathly quiet now and that makes Rook's shoulders tighten just a little more. Joey had said only this morning how panicked everyone was, but now as the sky darkens an almost blackish blue, he realises that people have either hidden themselves away in fear or completely evacuated Hope County.

Elijah sits on the bench against the shop wall. The bold black letters hang above his head. It’s almost picture-worthy, the way he's sat slanted over so that his elbows rest on his knees and his head hangs just slightly.

Elijah doesn’t mind the quiet, in fact, he welcomes the silence. The emptiness gives him room to pry open his thoughts and lay them out to rest. He thinks about the national parks he used to walk through for days on end. The vast openness felt smothered by the thick trees that covered miles upon miles. The greens and encroaching oranges that stain leaves during the autumn, that was something Elijah loved-appreciated during those times. Nothing would disturb him except the occasional sound of birds crossing between trees and the rustling of twigs as deer cross his path.

He almost hates that the chance of being able to hike through the Whitetails has decreased. A little comfort in this county he would have to find another time to approach.

His head lifts when he hears tires roll across on the road in front. Naturally, Rook assumes it's Pratt. He lifts his head to see the bright beams illuminate his surroundings. Soon enough the vehicle clunks to a stop on the far side of the road.

It's white.

Rook gets up and turns. He doesn’t think about inciting casual conversation or sweet talk. He's not prepared to deal with whatever is in that car and he confidently can say that he certainly isn’t ready to join any cult.

Using the frame to steady himself he vaults the broken door and hastily moves to the side of the shop. His back hits the wall as he faces away from the outside. The shattered window is just to his left but thankfully there’s no strong light shining through, just the dull glow from the truck’s headlights.

Rook hopes that the lack of interior lighting keeps him hidden from outside view.

There are a few voices from outside, nothing Elijah can make out not until the glass begins to crack under soles and then silence.

“I saw you.” The voice says loud and slow, clear enough for anyone to hear.

“Do not be afraid, the damage here has already been done. So now, my child, we offer hope.” The voice continues, it's alarmingly similar to something Rook has heard before. He wants to look but he keeps his head pinned back against the wall, out of sight.

There’s a paused silence and it almost feels like forever until he speaks again. Rook is already observing his options. He noticed earlier the back-right window pulled open from the bottom up. There’s enough room for him to slip through with little risk of him slicing his palms open. The Deputy begins to peel himself slowly away from the wall, cautious to stay in the shadowed edges of the shop.

“Doesn’t this terrify you? A world full of...hate and despair? Where ones’ neighbour could do harm like this? Inciting violence on our friends...our family? But it doesn’t have to be like this anymore. The horror of this world will be purged along with all those that choose to bring it.”

Elijah can’t explain why he stops to listen. He’s heard it before, these kinds of salvation talks but this is different, the way his voice is levelled on strong belief it almost sounds hard to find the lie, to find that heightened tone that tells you its just another pyramid scheme...just a new scam to enslave your life to a revitalised cause. He’s heard it all before. But more patriotic, more...militarian. He hates that he stops to listen because like so many times before he _has_ stopped to listen. He loses that brief moment of concentration. His foot comes down too fast, his body jolts over a fallen shelf it loudly clutters as the wood is knocked from its resting place and onto the hard-laminated floor.

His lungs tighten. It hurts to breathe but he knows he’s got no other option now if he wants to get out of this alive. He can feel his heart racing, thudding thunderously against the confines of his ribcage. He can try to fight his way out, he thinks as his fists tighten at his sides. He can take down as many as possible before they overwhelm him or...he can run. Pratt must be close by now.

Something, however, stops him from moving momentarily and instead compels him to glance over his shoulder at the front of the gas station.

His eyes immediately find the two bright yellowed lenses staring back at him. Eyes clouded by the shield of glass. Elijah is certain they would’ve looked bright blue.

He doesn't have to be a genius to figure out who this man possibly is. Clad in clothing akin to a preacher. Hair pulled back into a small bun, white book in his left hand. He's looking directly at Rook as if someone had put spotlights directly on the deputy.

Moments tick by before the man lowers his head ever so slightly, like how a hungry animal would crane its neck get a better view of its prey.

“Fuck.” Elijah exhales.

He doesn’t hesitate as his body lunges forward. Grabbing onto the top of the window frame he uses his upper arm strength to push through the open half of the window. His feet land on the ground before the rest of his body follows through. He runs. His flight instinct kicks in almost immediately as he sets off around the back of Golden Valley and over the crossroads to the right. Heading back to where Pratt initially drove them in.

He doesn’t have to hear them to know they’re looking for the Deputy. The sound of faint yelling and crashing almost defended out by the ringing in his ears. With each strong push off the ground he's letting out hard exhales of breath. He has to admit he's not as fast as he used to be but as he sprints away from the scene he soon puts distance between himself and the station. It becomes a faint glow in the distance.

He looks over his shoulder for a moment making sure they haven’t been smart enough to get into the white pick-up and tail Rook down the road.

“Fuckin' idiots" he laughs out.

Rook doesn’t have time to recognize the breaking patrol car skidding to a hard stop just mere feet in front of him. Pratt looks mortified and Rook almost has to jump out the way as the oncoming vehicle jolts to a stop.

“HOLY SHIT!” Rook yells as his hands slam down on the bonnet of the car. Pratt has his mouth open and eyes wide, unable to comprehend that he had almost knocked Rook into next week.

Elijah doesn’t waste time, he pulls open the door and slides in. “We gotta get out of here now Stace.” The Deputy says as his seatbelt clicks into its socket. Safety first.

“Why the fuck were you in the middle of the road?!” Pratt yells out, finally able to form words as he turns to gape at Rook.

“Can I explain when you turn us the fuck around!” Elijah only has to point toward the gas station for Pratt to pick up on what the hell the Rookie is talking about.

“Yeah fuck...sure.” Pratt listens to Elijah. He turns the cruiser back round faster than regulation definitely allows but he gets them out of the way and quickly.

“I could’ve killed you, Rook.”

“No...I don’t think it's my time yet.” Elijah grins all teeth.

* * *

Rook explains to Pratt what happened. Pratts eyes only get wider as he continues to describe the man who was speaking at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Pratt?”

“Rook? That was Joseph fuckin’ Seed proclaiming his end of the world campaign to you.”

“Oh.” Elijah, to Pratt, should look more concerned. But Pratt doesn’t know Elijah. Doesn’t know the number of dead-end bar fights he's been in. Doesn’t know how his first or second tour was. He doesn’t know that jumping out a window after being serenaded by a cult leader isn’t the worst thing that has happened to him.

“Is Emily alright?” Rook asks, lightly changing the conversation. Pratt looks a little taken back but nods his fingers drumming nervously against the steering wheel.

“I left her with Whitehorse and Hudson. She isn’t hurt.”

“Good...that’s Good.” Rooks voice already sounds exhausted. The ride back to the station involved him chugging down an entire bottle of water as well as drinking half of Staci's bottle, despite his protests.

When they get to the station the young woman is gone and both Joey and Earl are deep conversation, they acknowledge the two deputies presence before turning back to the large map they’ve pulled out of Whitehorse’s office.

“Deputies.” Earl greets them, his body still turned to the table. “Get some coffee settle in, we got a long night ahead.” Rook doesn’t doubt that for a second. After being passed a mug of borderline-scolding hot coffee from Hudson, he listens to the Sheriff talk civilian control.

Rook can’t help but feel – see the faint yellow hues mask bright eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE BEGINNING!  
> Kudos and comments are appreciated!  
> If you'd like to follow me on my socials:  
> TUMBLR AND TWITTER: GLITCHEDDEAD


	8. CHAPTER EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't schedule my updates, I shit them out at full speed because I'm a whore for hyperfixating over far cry. 
> 
> you know the drill boys, it's not been beta-read

_One day before the_ reaping

Shaw never calls in. As the morning breaks through and rises to the centre of the sky he realises that this worry is shared among all in the department. Whitehorse tries to call in, but there’s nothing but static on the other end.

Joey argues of course. She wants to go find him, but Earl insists he can hold his own. He doesn’t want to lose another Deputy today. Rook understands what Whitehorse means but the thought of leaving Shaw behind, it almost feels criminal.

But what if Shaw was part of the cult. It’s only a passing thought but it makes Rook wonder. Earl has already questioned him on Shaw and Shaw has already given Rook the weird run down on if he can trust him or not. It feels strange. The way he’s set himself out. It feels planned. But the thought does eventually pass. Joeys rage does not.

There’s plenty of calls throughout the day. None they can actually act on despite the pleading in some voices. Earl doesn’t want to send anyone out unless absolutely necessary. So, he doesn’t. It’s painful. Waiting in the office as the fans hum and the sun drifts across the sky.

Joey and Pratt leave to check on a Nick and Kim Rye near Falls End. After some amount of convincing Earl finally gives way and lets them go just because Kim is expecting. Rook thinks it’s a little outlandish that they’re picking and choosing who to support but he supposes there aren’t enough Deputies for all the residence in Hope County.

Earl hasn’t spoken much. Not since yesterday. Rook supposes it’s hard for him a ‘protector’ of the county and people to see such a thing happen. Maybe he feels like he’s failed them. Maybe, he feels like he's let himself down for letting this go on for far too long.

Rook doesn’t try to reassure him, knowing he’s not great at it anyway. How could he help un-lift such a heavy burden?

Elijah never tells Whitehorse about his run-in with Joseph. Pratt doesn't say a word either, Rook assumes it's because he's still getting over the fact he almost mowed Rook down. It's not that he wants to keep this from Whitehorse, he just knows that he'll get his ass kicked if he tells the man he was almost lured into the cult instead of staying in the car with Staci. Rook sits back into his desk chair, staring between the screen in front and the phone to the right. Earl is sat in Pratts chair writing something off in a wad of paper. Neither of them hear the front doors swing open.

Nancy clears her throat from the doorway - Rook is, in all honesty, surprised she’s still here. He shouldn’t have assumed she would’ve been the first in the department to take off.

“I’ve got Mr Burke from the United States Marshal Service,” Nancy announces.

Earl stands as he places the pad of paper over Staci's keyboard. 

“Sheriff Whitehorse. Sorry I couldn’t have made it sooner flights to Missoula were delayed. Gotta say though the complimentary beverages were appreciated.” His lips turn up into a white-toothed grin as he grabs for Earl's hand and shakes it.

Earl looks taken back. Confusion clouds the man in ways that Rook can see physically. His mouth hangs agape as he tries to find the correct thing to say. “The United States Marshal Service?” His eyebrows raise up almost disappearing under his hat.

“Yes sir. Now, I got a warrant for Joseph Seed. Thanks to those videos we finally have the right incentive to bring the bastard in.”

“Yeah, that’s all good Marshal but I asked for the god damned National Guard.”

Burke sighs, pulls his hand away and tightens his shoulders. He’s at least early 40’s, Rook thinks. He’s shaved clean despite the short beard he’s decided to keep around. He’s almost handsome in a kind of rugged authoritarian way. He reminds Rook of men he used to work along-side. Quick to talk about feeling the adrenaline but refuses to throw the first punch. The kind of man that abuses the power he’s given. It makes him uneasy as he sits back into his chair, watching the way Burke straightens up to gain a couple of centimetres in height against Earl.

“Look,” he begins hands coming together in a prayer motion, “You need the help, the county needs the help and right now I have a _federal_ warrant to bring Joseph Seed in. He’s not going to ignore that.”

“You have no idea what this man is capable of, sir.”

“I’ve seen the videos. I know exactly the type of man Joseph Seed is.”

He doesn’t. Rook has barely scratched the surface of The Project and barely knows who Joseph is, despite the run-in he had with him last night. He knows that a piece of shitty printer paper with a fancy signature isn’t going to deter the deep-rooted tree that is Eden’s Gate. It isn’t going to stop, because that paper to Joseph means nothing at all.

“Sir, I don’t think you do.” Elijah blurts out, it causes both men to stop and turn to look at him. Burke’s mannerisms change. That large sweet grin has disappeared. He narrows his eyes, heavy brows sinking to meet the crease of his eyes.

“I don’t huh?” Burke crosses his arms over his chest, gloved fingers gripping onto biceps. He looks at Elijah with the same glare a pre-school bully would.

Oh yeah, Rook fuckin’ hates this guy. He probably sucked dick to get the position he's at now.

“What Rook means is that the man has his own compound, their people are growing in numbers, Marshal. They’d do anything to protect him I’m sure as hell” Earl interjects his body acting as a shield as he steps in between Burke and Elijah’s desk.

Burke makes a grunt of acknowledgement, but the man clearly doesn’t care – doesn’t want to understand the severity of the situation.

“What’s your name.”

“Deputy Rook,” Elijah answers back knowing that’s not quite what he meant. He can’t help but smile but he's certain Burke will see it as a smug shit-eating grin.

There's a stillness before the doors open again. Hudson and Pratt have returned, and Rook is grateful for their presence. At least Hudson would kick this mans ass without a shred of remorse.

“Who’s this?” she says loudly to Earl.

“This is-"

“Cameron Burke. Marshal.” He interjects turning toward her with his hand out. Joey turns her body away from him with the grace of a composed wild cat. Burke pulls back his hand and slides it into the inside of his bulletproof vest he’s sporting. It’s dark grey with large bold yellow letters that read:

**U.S MARSHAL**

Rook notes the man’s small silver cross hanging by a chain around his neck. He's curious if he's genuinely religious or perhaps he wore it thinking it could protect him from whatever happens tonight.

“A Marshal?” Joey questions looking at Earl with distaste, “I thought you said-"

“I know what I said Hudson and believe me I am not happy either,” Earl says.

Burke lets out a laugh, it almost sounds like he's mocking them, “Well happy or not we're driving up to that compound and arresting the man.”

Hudson laughs. Rook hasn’t seen her laugh like this since they went for drinks at the Spread Eagle. The way her eyes narrow as she stops and stares at Burke, “He's a fuckin’ idiot".

Rook watches as Burke sees red. He goes to step forward arms uncrossed and ready, his balled fist extending an index to point at her.

Joey hasn’t moved from her position, Stood just a couple centimetres behind Earl.

“Hey now. Joey. Marshal or not if he's got a warrant, we're going to get the man into the compound,” he pauses for a breath and Burke backs off, “but Sir, we won’t be driving to the compound. Easiest – Safest way is to use Pratts helicopter.”

Everyone turns to look at Pratt.

“What?” Staci mutters looking between the four of them. “I’m not gunna fly us in.” Pratt crosses his hands in a back and forth motion, a nervous bubble of laughter erupting from his chest. “I-I can’t...”

“Kid, you don’t have a damn choice.” Burke cuts in. Staci closes his mouth.

He’s right. Rook hates that he's right. None of them have a choice in the matter, not even Earl.

“Start her up Pratt, we take off in 15. Maybe it’ll give the Marshal enough time to change his mind.” Whitehorse sighs, it’s a long exhale that has him turning away from the Marshal and briefly glancing toward Elijah. It leaves the Rookie waiting for some kind of command, but nothing follows as the Sheriff turns away.

* * *

The Marshal doesn’t change his mind. He’s all giddy has he climbs into the helicopter, happy that this might be his first big breakthrough. Rook wonders if this guy has been waiting for a promotion for a while now and this…this might be the thing to get his name in the papers, to get his superiors to finally recognise his ‘talent’.

Pratt and Hudson are already in suited up and ready to go. Neither of them pay much attention to Burke as he climbs in loudly proclaiming that _he_ is going to ‘pull in that son of a bitch.’

Earl is next, he climbs in and seats himself next to the Marshal. An unease in his body as his hands' fumble around the belt.

Rook is last. He waits until everyone is seated to climb in. The nerves not only present in Earl but in Elijah too. The way his fist clenches and releases. His jaw feels tight and even though there’s a thunderous pumping in his ears he’s certain he can hear his teeth grinding together. He reaches for the bar and pulls himself in, the door sliding to a close as he seats himself.

That anticipation he felt yesterday feels just as bad today.

Something feels so fucking wrong.

The sky has darkened completely now. The soft glow of the full moon illuminating the open sky around them. It’s almost beautiful if it weren't for the circumstances.

They’re up in the air within minutes. Rooks not scared of heights, he’s certain he’d be able to fly a ‘copter just as good as Staci is right now. A couple of buddies in Air Force let him play around with a few of their toys during his second tour but he knows he doesn’t know damn near enough about flying to get a license. His thoughts start drifting into quiet reminiscence. The nerves he felt when he got onto the helicopter for his first deployment. The guy next to Rook shaking like a chihuahua on steroids. Rook remembers turning to him and grinning, “Hey, if this thing goes down at least you won’t have to deal with my sorry ass for the next 7 months.” 

“Here,” Burke says loudly into his mic. The helicopter is god damn loud but unfortunately not loud enough to pretend he didn’t hear the man in front try to gauge his attention. He hands Rook his phone. It already has a video playing. Rooks certain he’s seen this from the ones Mary May showed them but as it plays out, he realises this is something completely different. He glances up at Earl. The Sheriff gives him a look that already tells Elijah he’s seen it.

The video is a little glitchy as it tries to play out. It’s filmed at an angle as some one’s shoved it comically through an overshirt pocket, or that it's fallen on its side.

It’s hard to see what happens but Rook can hear the faint voice, the same one he heard at the gas station.

“-You have no faith, but I will make them see.”

“Christ,” Rook mutters. His skin crawls as the video continues to play out. It’s almost sickening to him how that could’ve been him last night. Could’ve been the young girl, Emily. The video cuts out and starts to black screen. Elijah hands Burke the phone back unsure of why he specifically showed Rook the video. He already gauged what kind of a man Joseph Seed is. Clearly, it’s Burke who needs to watch it again.

“No Christ there Rookie,” Burke says as he takes the phone from Rook.

“You’re wasting your time, there’s no signal out here,” Earl says from the side.

Marshal has the paper out again. He’s holding on to it like it appears to have all the answers in the world. Like it’s some kind of sacred text. The one thing that’s going to bring the cult tumbling down. It’s pathetic.

“Crossin’ over the Henbane now,” Pratt grumbles into the mic. The helicopter turns sharply to the right. Rooks doesn’t understand why Pratt pulled the bird so hard until he looks out the window.

“Oh fuck, there he is.”

“Crazy motherfucker.”

Elijah stares at the statue as they swing past. He’s lost for words, stumped at the sheer size and detail of this thing. How had he never seen it before? Sure, Hope County is massive but this…

He’s never been properly into the Henbane nor into the Whitetails but hell, something of this magnitude should be seen from every corner of Montana.

_Oh._

That’s the point, Rook thinks to himself. To be marvelled and gazed upon by all. The ego on this man. He must get off on having people bow below him, in awe of his image.

Rook comes back into the conversation, aware that all other noise was tuned out by the blood pumping in his ears. Earl and Burke are talking at one another again. It feels like a repeat from earlier.

“Sometimes, sometimes it’s better just to leave well enough alone,” Earl says as he drags his gaze from Burke who’s still cradling the paper, to Rook.

“Yeah well, we have laws for a reason, Sheriff,” Burke responds finally folding the letter and pushing it into his back pocket.

Pratt opens a call with dispatch after Earls request. A simple flick on the monitor opens a buzzing into the headphones. “Whitehorse to dispatch over.”

“Go ahead, Earl.” Nancy croaks through.

They talk for a little under a minute before the line breaks.

Pratt quips about bringing Nancy instead of Rook and that earns him a hard stare from Joey. The sternness in her voice as she warns him. Elijah huffs out a laugh, amazed that in a situation like this he could even think about cracking a joke.

“Compounds just below,” Pratt says over the top of Earls and Burks awkward stand-off. It’s incredibly hard to sit and listen to the two try to bite at one another’s heels.

Pratt dips them low. From the window, the compound looks massive. Rook has never made it this close to the island before. He’s never seen that gigantic white church sitting at the back just by the lake. Even from up here Rook can see the gathering of people. Waiting - watching as Pratt brings them into land.

Everyone expresses their distaste. Hudson and Earl making throaty noises along with choice words. Even Marshal, for a moment, looks terrified.

Pratt sets them down. The blades slow with a loud whir as they’re greeted with little over hundreds of eyes. Those eyes specifically belonging to peggies, most of which are white-knuckled as they grip onto their guns. Rook feels his guts turn. The metaphorical chains in his ribs thrashing around with a metallic clang. Every part of his body tells him to run.

Earl starts to speak, explains what they gotta do it and how they’re doing it. Rook nods when he gestures toward him. He’s certainly no amount of checklists, rules or regulations will stop what’s waiting for them.

Pratt stays in the Helicopter in case he needs to make a speedy take-off. The rest of them jump out and onto peggie soil.

“Rook, on me.” Hudson’s tone is tight, full of wary concern. He’s grateful she’s with him even if it is until they walk up to the church. The walk up feels like miles. Members of the cult start gathering in numbers, one by one they join, following them up to the church. Whispering to one another about the unwanted guests. Rook feels the heat on his back, he almost feels it burning against his skin. As they get closer Elijah can hear the signing. The small vibration of gathered voices coming together to harmonise a hymn that Rook has heard so many times before.

Except its ominously terrifying coming from a church that’s branded with a large peggie cross on the front.

“Woah there, Marshal. If we do this, we do this my way. Quietly – calmly. Hudson on the door I want you watching our backs. Make sure none of these people get in,” Earl turns to look at Rook. His shoulders tensed despite how his arms are hanging relaxed by his side. Everything feels wrong. It takes a lot of power to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground.

Earl says something to Burke and Burke responds by putting his hand on Earl's arm. “Relax, Sheriff,” He drawls for far too long that it makes Hudson turn and stare, “you’re about to get your name in the paper.”

If the cult doesn’t knock this guy on his ass Rook sure as hell will.

“You’ll be fine.” Hudson brings him out of a momentary rage. It passing over him like a tide. She gives him a half-smile. Rook can’t help but feel like it’ll be the last time she ever does.

The doors are pulled open and an immediate yellowed light blinds them. It's direct and appointed in one particular direction, cascading down across the pulpit. The pews are full of bodies. All sporting the white ragged garments.

“Somethings coming, you can feel it can’t you?” Calm. Rook notes. It’s almost as intimidating as loud ramblings of a madman. Knowing the voice, how calm and how omnipotent it sounds is just as dangerous, if not more. “They’re creeping toward the edge.” He continues slowly, it’s loud enough for everyone to hear. “And there will be a reckoning.”

Earl and Marshal take steps cautiously toward Joseph. He’s stood bathed in the hard-yellowed light. The blood is pumping louder now, it's almost hard to hear anything at all as Rook approaches a few feet behind. Earl takes a couple back glances at Rook. He feels like he’s being watched. He hates it. The eyes follow them as they approach closer. His palms are sweaty his nails digging into the skin to stop his mind from wandering, from thinking about anything other than this moment.

He feels trapped in this church.

Joseph is still talking to the masses. The sheriff made a quick gesture to Burke and Rook doesn't know why. As they come to a halt their preacher gets louder, his voice echoing across the wooden walls and into the ears of his followers.

It’s’ terrifying. Being this close. Recognising the yellow glass in the metal frames.

Rook remembers Joseph wearing clothes last night. He wants to question the lack of shirt, but as he gets closer and stops a foot behind Earl, he realises he doesn’t need to. The skin is reddened with jagged marks that spell out sins across his body. Fuck.

“Nawh fuck this.” Burke begins before loudly proclaiming his arrest. “Joseph Seed. I have a warrant issued for your arrest. On the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see them.” He’s holding out that fucking paper again. One arm proudly outstretched toward Joseph.

Joseph doesn’t even look down at it. Not even a glimpse at the useless words and decorated edges.

He does however put out his hands, at first gesturing toward his people.

Rook blinks. They’re blocking the path now. Five men with weapons, ready and responsive like dogs. Something explodes withing the crowd, within Earl and Burke as a slight panic ensues. It catches Rook off guard and has him hovering over his sidearm.

Earls calling for peace, “Calm down, Everyone. Calm down.” He’s loud but his voice a little hoarse from years of alcohol and possibly cigars. Joseph steps forward hands dismissing his people. There’s a momentary silence that has Rooks spine shiver. Something moves behind him.

It’s John. Clothed in his ordinary attire, smart and poised. He crosses over the stage to the right. Elijah catches his eyes the moment he looks behind Joseph. Then there’s Jacob, tall and proud. Crossing his arms over his chest as he awaits judgement for his brother. 

Then there's a woman. Elegant. Beautiful. Rook has no idea who she is. 

People file out. Rook earns a hard shoulder as they pass through and out the doors.

“God will not let them take me.” Joseph announces to his leaving masses.

Rook looks back at the pulpit and it feels like a resonance painting. The three behind him, judging, waiting and listening. While Joseph moves with a confidence that almost scares Burke.

“I saw when the lamb opened the first seal and I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts to say come and see-“

“Step. Forward.” Burke over speaks. It seems to snap the preacher out of his dramatics, lowering his arms as he looks down to glare across at them.

“-And I saw.” He continues stepping closer now. “And Behold. It was White Horse. And hell followed with him.” He outstretches his hands. Not to Earl, nor to Burke but straight down the middle at Rook.

“Rookie,” Burke announces loudly that it makes Rook look away from the man in front of him, “cuff this son of a bitch.”

Elijah looks back. They’re all staring at him. He feels like he’s going to have a fucking panic attack.

Joseph waits. His eyes not leaving Rooks.

“God will not let you take me.”

The Deputy feels a wave of calm. He can’t explain where he kicks it up from or how he does it, but his brain suppresses all other feelings except his rational thought. He doesn’t hesitate to pull out the cuffs from his belt. He leans forward grabbing onto Joseph's wrists. As he feels the click of metal, he knows that they’ve come too far now to back out now.

“Let’s go,” Earl says coming past Rook and back toward the door. The marshal follows quickly as they both go to hold the doors open. Rook can feel the burn of eyes behind him. His hand rests over the preachers shoulder pushing him forward and out the doors.

Joey is there to greet them, with a hurried impatience and a hand holding onto her holster. “We gotta get the fuck outta here.”

Rook isn’t sure what happens next. There’s a lot of screaming, yelling. Peggies begging the department not to take their beloved ‘father.’ Rook follows some feet behind.

“I saw you,” Joseph says, still calm but quiet.

“What?” Elijah blurts out confused that he even managed to hear him speak over how loud his head is right now.

“At the Gas station. You ran.”

How did he know? How did he know that was specifically Rook? It was so dark there was no way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elijah insists although it doesn’t sound genuine.

“Rookie stop fucking talking to him,” Burke yells.

Neither of them speak again but Rook is left feeling uneasy. More so if that was even possible. The helicopter is insight. Elijah isn’t sure what happens next. It goes so fast. There are gunshots as Burke is pelted with something. The screaming gets louder and it's hard for Rook to understand what’s being yelled to one another. Pratt already has the blades vibrating with the need to take off.

Rook pushes Joseph into his seat, Joey helping him do so.

So much happens Rook isn’t sure how the craft even took off. The peggies start throwing themselves at the metal, clinging onto the sides and bars. It starts to pull the bird down.

Rook is panicking, Burke has just shot someone directly to the chest and Joey is battling for the door as a woman on the outsides threatens to swing it open.

Joseph…is fucking singing. The bastard looks like he’s enjoying a one-way trip to Las Vegas, with his head pressed back eyes closed.

Fuck, this is so wrong everything is so wrong.

Pratts lost control. The helicopter is spinning so hard the blades are hissing. Somewhere amongst the yelling, he can hear the hymn.

* * *

Elijah’s eyes are fogged. His head hurts and his arms strangely feel like dead weights. It takes a moment for him to come around. The blackened edges of his vision slowly disappearing. Burke is hanging in front of him. He’s still unconscious. Joey is okay, blacked-out but not severely injured.

Rook pauses for a moment before recognising where he is. He wished for a moment that if he had opened his eyes he’d be in his bed waking up for the 6 AM shift at work. He wishes so desperately he was waking up to soft sheets and early warming reds from the sun.

Something stirs him. It’s Nancy. God, he never thought he’d be happy to hear her voice. It’s coming through the headset which means the helicopter isn’t completely fucked.

Rook reaches for it as it swings in front of his face. His hands struggle to reach for the wire. There’s that singing again, slow, calm. Rooks’ certain he's hit his head far too hard. “Ah” Elijah grunts out a noise of success as he grabs hold of it in a hand.

The noise disappears into the back of his throat and lodges itself there. There’s a hard grip on his wrist as Joseph pulls the headset from his grasp.

He looks fucked up. There’s blood pouring from his nose. How the hell his glasses aren’t smashed to bits Rook will never know. He’s staring down at the Deputy. He can’t look away. Not as he finishes the last line of the song. Broken and quiet.

Nancy is begging in the background, fear in her voice. “Please anyone, Please!”

Joseph pulls the headphones away, “I told you,” He says, “God wouldn’t let you take me.”

That alone makes Rook want to lash out. It wasn’t God protecting him, it was his brainwashed followers.

Nancy sounds like she’s crying on the other end. Joseph doesn’t look away as he holds the mic up and speaks into it.

“Dispatch,”

Nancy sighs, it sounds like relief. It sounds like the only voice she needs to hear right now.

“Everything is just fine here. No need to call anyone.”

“Yes, father.” She’s calm now, any theatrics in her voice washed away. “Praise be to you.”   
Rook wants to fucking yell but the smoke from the fire starts clogging his lungs stopping any words from getting out.

He lets go of the mic, the headset swinging to one side.

Joseph leans in, his eyes never leaving. “No one is coming to save you.”

Oh, god.

There are voices outside. Calling - praising for Joseph. Rook starts to look around pulling at his seatbelt to attempt to release it. Joey Begins to stir. She lets out a soft groan as her torso starts to sway. Rook can see Joseph greeted by his followers. He’s speaking to them, just like in the church, just like nothing at all fucking happened. He seems so perfectly unscathed from the crash.

Rook can’t hear a single thing. Not until Joseph stands on top of the car arms spread to the sky.

“Begin the reaping!”

Rook exhales a breath he feels like he’s held for far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ubisoft, can you please contact me and tell me what kinda fucking glass Joseph Seeds glasses are made out of? Thanks x   
> Kudos and comments, as always are so very damn appreciated.   
> Follow me on my socials:   
> TUMBLR & TWITTER: GLITCHEDDEAD


	9. CHAPTER NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didne forget about this fic I promise. I just got really tired mentally, but hey I'm in another lockdown so expect future chapters!  
> not beta read!

If there was one thing Elijah Rook knew for certain, it was that Cameron Burke was a selfish son of a bitch. 

The man had the audacity to look Rook in the eyes as he freed himself, hurled a few choice words toward the peggies, and then took off into the forest. He didn’t try to stop the peggies from taking Hudson or Pratt He didn’t try to help Rook from the seat as he pulled panicked at the belt. Rook, however, had tried grabbing hard onto Joey’s ankle. His grip loose and weak as she’s pulled away by the roughed hands of cultists. 

He couldn’t save a single person. 

Watching from the tight confines of his seat as Hudson, Pratt, and Whitehorse are dragged out from the burning helicopter and into the swarming masses. He knew he hated Burke for abandoning them but with the little option left Elijah had to do just that too. 

“Fuck!” he curses as the flames begin to engulf the right side of the helicopter. He can’t hear much aside from the yelling and cheering of gospel screams. Supposedly serenading Rook into an incredibly hot and very painful death. 

He wasn’t ready to burn. Not yet. Not without putting up a good fight. 

After the seatbelt gave way it was all a blur. Guns fired, dogs barking at his heels. 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since the Helicopter. He knows he’s made little distance between him and the croaked roaring behind him. Thankfully there seems to be less heat on his back, it feels a little too much for him to thank god for that. There’s a crackle from the radio on his belt. It sounds too loud in the vast thicket of trees. 

It’s Burke. Panicked and quick on the other end. He talks about a white mobile home up on a ridge. If anyone is still alive to meet him there. 

Rook does despite every thought in his head telling him to just abandon the guy, he won’t survive a second out here. Because that’s who Cameron Burke, the Marshal was. All talk and no bite. A façade neatly wrapped up in the bright whites of his smile and cross pendant. 

It’s all hell after entering the house. Burke in an uncoordinated blind panic, jumps Rook. Gives them both a free trial heart attack. He then gives a speech about how fucked up Joseph _actually_ is, as if he wasn’t warned a thousand times already. It’s evident to Rook that if Burke gets out of this alive, he’ll report back that they were unprepared-that there were no indicators or warnings. It’ll make Burke heroic and brave, and the Hope County’s Sheriff Department look short of diligence. Either the cult will crucify them, or the state will. 

Missoula, Burke says. He says that he’ll jump-start the car and then they both gun it to Missoula. He says they’ll come back with stronger reinforcement and takedown Joseph like they were meant to. 

God, it was meant to be _easy._

Peggies planted on every corner, roadblock after roadblock continued for miles. Then that fucking plane. Whoever was in it didn’t care who they were hitting. It was instantly apparent to Rook that these peggies were dispensable, didn’t matter how many died or even if their own killed each other, there was always going to be more to fill the dead's shoes. 

There’s an explosion of reds amongst rubble and dust. They didn’t see the bomb drop straight onto the peggie truck in front. Burke swings a hard right and sends the car spinning off the bridge and nose-diving into the river. 

Rook braces for impact but the front hits the water so hard it knocks him cold for a moment. There’s a weightless feeling to being drowned despite your body filling up with water as if your lungs welcome the heavyweight of rocks and unbreathable fullness.

Choking the water up was hazardous. The way Elijah’s body reels at the pressure- forcing the water out so he can finally breathe. He knows it’s loud. Sloppy. There’s a hand on him, grabbing him to the muddied bank side. In his haze, he can hear Burke scream way off in the distance. Protesting heavy-handed peggies. 

The Deputy blacks out, hoping whoever pulled his sorry ass to shore was willing to save his life and not take it. 

It feels dream-like. One second grasping onto slippery ground choking for air and then the next floating. The muffled sounds of preachers from low places speaking out behind static barriers. It feels like a dream until it’s not, and Rook wakes with heavy lids. His eyes battling the sleep that so desperately wants to take him back under. 

The fogginess clears from Rooks vision, “augh. S-shit.” He groans, his neck hurts, his arms hurt. Everything fucking hurts. His wrists are tight- pulled together with plastic ties. Locking him to the bottom of the bed frame. He gives the ties a few quick tugs before a hard-graveled voice pulls him away from any panic. 

“You know what this shit means?” He starts. 

Rook keeps quiet. It’s what he’s best at under certain situations and right now as far as he can tell this is not a man to be fucked with. At least not while he’s tied to a damned bedpost. 

“It means the roads have all been closed. It means the phone lines have been cut. It means there are no signals getting in or out of this valley. But mostly, it means we’re all fucked.” 

Rook got to know him quickly as Dutch. 

The man in his mid-60’s had fully and carefully prepared his entire life for the end of days. Which he insisted was coming sometime soon thanks to Rookie. Elijah tried not to take any offense to that but sure-being told you’re the harbinger of the end times doesn’t exactly fit well on his already tainted resume. 

Dutch introduced him to his personal island and everything on it. He quickly as possible filled Elijah in with everything that Whitehorse wouldn’t. In just under 24 hours Joseph Seed, his two brothers, and little sister had complete control over Hope County. 

Rook could barely breathe while awake in the bunker. If it weren’t for the lecture Dutch was giving him, he was certain he’d pass out again- dizzy from the anxiety that tried to grip onto his muscles. A nearby panic attack crawling itself up into Rook's throat. Heavy and thick in his skin, laying in wait as Rook started to feel the sickly sweat of his fear whisper into his ears. 

Dutch finally broke the news to Rook. It seemed to shake off any fear of the bunker and instead replaced itself with something akin to loneliness. 

He was the last of the Hope County Sheriff’s Department and that Whitehorse, Hudson, and Pratt had been taken. It wasn’t until Elijah had finally gotten outside-the bright mid-day sun blinding him before his eyes adjusted-did he take a moment to breathe. As the doors closed behind him, he fell to the ground, one knee firmly pressed into the earth. With everything running through his head, how quickly everything had escalated...he didn’t know what to feel or say to someone like Dutch. All he knew was that he had to save his friends. He had to save Hudson and Pratt. 

It doesn’t take long to help Dutch liberate his Island from the few peggies that reside there.

The first time he shoots it’s with nervous hands. Afraid to let his muscle memory back in after he had spent _years_ trying to forget. The anxiety hadn't quite faded into the background noise of Elijah's skull. When he shot his aim was off slightly. Alerting the two peggies to his position. Resorting to hand to hand combat was somehow easier. The familiar crack of cartilage and bone felt all to at home in his palms.

It settled back into his fingers after the third kill. The weight of the gun was becoming less foreign to him, no longer making his arms feel like jelly. The anxiety moved on from being a second thought, instead, complete white noise had encompassed him, along with the thoughts of Pratt and Joey. 

After the sixth kill, his breathing steadied, his chest rising and falling with each casing that flings itself toward the ground.

After the eleventh, he no longer felt sorry. The feeling of guilt disappeared, became more of a passing thought than it did a feeling. 

Rookie reaches the radio tower.

He’s lucky enough not afraid of heights, he has no problem scaling up the side of the tower until he reaches the top. The metal lid pops open and Elijah assumes his best bet is just to rip the whole thing out. Dutch commends him at his hip. Finally, they'll be able to communicate outside his island. 

“Dep- you gotta see this,” Dutch says with no joy. 

Elijah pulls up his smartphone. The screen is cracked from the crash. The battery blinks red. 

The broadcast feels hours long. Even though it's mere minutes. Despite the tower swaying gently from left to right he feels completely stilled by John's movements. As his hands sway from side to center and then up toward the sky. It isn’t the ceremonial like setting that pisses Rook off. It isn’t the Hollywood-styled YES above John's head either. It’s Hudson. It’s the blackened stains under her eyes and the red raw of her cheeks. It’s the way John runs a hand over her throat. 

Elijah wishes the Broadcast would stop. He feels her humiliation, her fear, and anger. 

Eventually, it does. The video stops and disappears. His home screen flickering as the low battery begins to shut it down. “Kid, you alright?.” Dutch coaches under static. 

Elijah lets out an exhale. “yeah give me a moment.” 

The deputy takes a second, his hands gripping onto his knees. Sweat beading down his dirtied face. Panic begins to rise in his gut- overpowering the adrenaline he wished he could continue to hold on to. He knew as soon as he stepped out of Dutches’ bunker he would be assigned savior of Hope County. He didn’t want this. He didn’t need this. He _wasn't_ this. Not because he had problems with shooting or facing obstacles but because he did know how to shoot, he knew how to handle a hostage situation, he knew how to look for dirt-covered mines. He knew how to kill on sight. 

Elijah Rook came to Hope County to escape what he had done- what he was trained for, but he realizes now as his fingers grip tight, that he hadn’t escaped at all. 

“Kid?” Dutch comes through, there's an ounce of concern. 

Rook stands. The side of his gun nudging his back as he straightens up. 

“Where to next?" The Deputy says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short chapter is a divider into the actual nitty-gritty shit now. From here on out ill be doing frequent time skips/encounters. The next couple of chapters will primarily consist of John, Joseph, and Dep antics!  
> Thanks for sticking around! Kudos and comments always are appreciated and loved.  
> Socials:  
> Twitter: GLITCHEDDEAD  
> Tumblr: GLITCHEDDEAD


End file.
